LOVEyMONSIFfi 

JLAy  ?  Ju  +s    ITlVllUlJbU 

GEORGE    GIBBS 


The 
LOVE  OF  MONSIEUR 


THE 

LOVE  OF  MONSIEUR 


BY 

GEORGE  GIBBS 


AUTHOR  OF 

THE  YELLOW  DOVE, 

SACKCLOTH  AND  SCARLET, 

THE  BOLTED  DOOR,  ETC. 


NEW    YORK 

GROSSET   &    DUNLAP 

PUBLISHERS 


COPYRIGHT,   1903,   BY 

D.  APPLETON  AND  COMPANY 


Copyright,  1903,  by  Harper  &  Brothers 
Copyright,  1903,  by  J.  B.  Lippincott  Company 

MINTED    IN    THE    UNITED    STATES    OF    AMERICA 


THIS  VOLUME  IS 
INSCRIBED       TO 

M.  H.  G. 

THE  "NORSE  GODDESS" 

with  all  my  heart  and  best  endeavors 
in  tender  appreciation  of  those  sym- 
pathies and  encouragements  which  make 
a  pleasure  of  labor,  and  life  a  frui- 
tion of  every  hope  and  dream 


2135754   ' 


CONTENTS 

CHAPTEK  PAGE 

I.  THE  FLEECE  TAVERN      .    «     »     ,  1 

II.  MISTRESS  BARBARA  DANCES  THE  Co- 

BANTO 11 

III.  MONSIEUR  MORNAY  BECOMES  UN- 

POPULAR          31 

IV.  MONSIEUR  WAITS  UPON  A  LADY  .     .  47 
V.  INDECISION 68 

VI.  THE  ESCAPE 87 

VII.  BARBARA 113 

VHI.  THE  SAUCY  SALLY 134 

IX.  "BRAS-DE-FER" 146 

X.  BRAS-DE-FER  MAKES  A  CAPTURE      ...  165 

XI.  THE  ENEMY  IN  THE  HOUSE  .     ,.    ,.  184 

XII.  PRISONER  AND  CAPTOR     .      .     ,     ,  201 

XIII.  MONSIEUR  LEARNS  SOMETHING  .     .  213 

XIV.  THE  UNMASKING 231 

XV.  MUTINY 249 

XVI.  MAROONED  268 


The 
LOVE  OF  MONSIEUR 

CHAPTER  I 
THE  FLEECE  TAVERN 


'  T  II  7HO  is  this  Mornay? ' ' 

V  V        Captain      Cornbury     paused     to 
kindle  his  tobago. 

"  Mornay  is  of  the  Embassy  of  France,  at  any 
game  of  chance  the  luckiest  blade  in  the  world 
and  a  Damon  for  success  with  the  petticoats, 
whether  they're  doxies  or  duchesses." 

1 1  Soho !  a  pretty  fellow. ' ' 

"A  French  chevalier — a  fellow  of  the  Ma- 
rine; but  a  die  juggler — a  man  of  no  caste," 
sneered  Mr.  Wynne. 

"He  has  a  wit  with  a  point." 

"Ay,  and  a  rapier,  too,"  said  Lord  Downey. 

"The  devil  fly  with  these  foreign  lady-kill- 
ers, ' '  growled  Wynne  again. 

"Oh,  Mornay  is  a  man-killer,  too,  never  fear. 
1 


THE  LOVE  OF  MONSIEUR 

He's   not   named   Bras-de-Fer   for   nothing," 
laughed  Cornbury. 

"Bah!"  said  a  voice  near  the  door.  "A 
foundling — an  outcast — a  man  of  no  birth — 
I'll  have  no  more  of  him." 

Captain  Ferrers  tossed  aside  his  coat  and  hat 
and  came  forward  into  the  glare  of  the  candles. 
Behind  him  followed  the  tall  figure  of  Sir  Henry 
Heywood,  whose  gray  hair  and  more  sober  garb 
and  lineaments  made  the  gay  apparel  of  his  com- 
panion the  more  splendid  by  comparison.  Cap- 
tain Ferrers  wore  the  rich  accouterments  of  a 
captain  in  the  Body-guard,  and  his  manner  and 
address  showed  the  bluster  of  a  bully  of  the 
barracks.  The  face,  somewhat  ruddy  in  color, 
was  of  a  certain  heavy  regularity  of  feature,  but 
his  eyes  were  small,  like  a  pig 's,  and  as  he  came 
into  the  light  they  flickered  and  guttered  like  a 
candle  at  a  puff  of  the  breath.  There  were  lines, 
too,  at  the  corners  of  the  mouth,  and  the  pursing 
of  the  thin  lips  gave  him  the  air  of  a  man  older 
than  his  years. 

"Come,  Ferrers,"  said  Cornbury,  good-na- 
turedly, "give  the  devil  his  due." 

2 


THE  FLEECE  TAVERN 

Wynne  laughed.  "Gawd,  man!  he's  givin* 
him  his  due.  Aren't  you,  Ferrers?" 

The  captain  scowled.  "I*  faith  I  am.  Two 
hundred  guineas  again  last  night.  May  the 
plague  take  him !  Such  luck  is  not  in  nature. ' ' 

"He  wins  upon  us  all,  by  the  Lord!"  said 
Cornbury,  stoutly. 

Heywood  sneered.  '  *  Bah !  You  Irish  are  too 
easy  with  your  likes — " 

"And  dislikes,  too,"  returned  Cornbury,  with 
a  swift  glance. 

"Faugh!"  snapped  Ferrers.  "The  man 
saved  your  life,  but  you  can 't  thrust  him  down 
our  throats,  Captain  Cornbury." 

"He's  cooked  his  goose  well  this  time,  thank 
God!"  said  Wynne.  "We'll  soon  be  rid  of 
him." 

"Another  duel?"  asked  Heywood,  carelessly. 

"What!"  cried  Downey.  "Have  you  not 
heard  of  the  struggle  for  precedence  this  after- 
noon! Why,  man,  'tis  the  talk  of  London. 
To-day  there  was  a  fight  between  the  coaches 
and  retainers  of  the  Embassades  of  France  and 
Spain.  Thanks  to  Mornay,  the  French  coach 

3 


THE  LOVE  OF  MONSIEUR 

was  disastrously  defeated  by  the  Spaniards. 
There  is  a  great  to-do  at  Whitehall,  for  the 
Grand  Monarque  thinks  more  of  his  prestige  in 
London  even  than  in  Paris.  God  help  the  man 
who  thwarts  him  in  this!  It  is  death  or  the 
Bastile,  and  our  own  King  would  rather  offend 
God  than  Louis." 

"And  Mornay — " 

"As  for  Mornay — "  For  an  answer,  Lord 
Downey  significantly  blew  out  one  of  the  can- 
dles upon  the  table.  "Pf ! — That  is  what  will 
happen  to  Mornay.  The  story  is  this:  The 
coaches  were  drawn  up  on  Tower  Wharf,  wait- 
ing to  follow  the  King.  In  the  French  coach 
were  seated  Mornay  and  the  son  of  the  am- 
bassador. In  the  Spanish  coach  were  Baron  de 
Batteville  and  two  ladies.  After  his  Majesty 
had  passed,  both  the  French  and  Spanish 
coaches  endeavored  to  be  first  in  the  street, 
which  is  here  so  narrow  that  but  one  may  pass 
at  a  time.  The  Frenchman  had  something  of  the 
advantage  of  position,  and,  cutting  into  the 
Spaniard  with  a  great  crash,  sent  the  coach 
whirling  over  half-way  upon  its  side,  to  the 

4 


THE  FLEECE  TAVERN 

great  hazard  of  the  Spaniard  and  ladies  within. 
Then  Mornay,  who  has  a  most  ingenious  art  of 
getting  into  the  very  thick  of  things,  leaped  upon 
the  coachman's  seat  and  seized  the  reins  of  the 
coach-horses.  He  was  beset  by  the  Spaniards 
and  cut  upon  the  head." 

"And  he  hung  on?" 

"What  d>  ye  think  the  fellow  did!  Pulled 
the  French  horses  back  and  aside  and  let  the 
Spanish  coach  down  upon  four  wheels  and  out 
of  danger.  Was  it  not  a  pretty  pass  I  The  rest 
was  as  simple  as  you  please.  The  Spaniard 
whipped,  and  though  smashed  and  battered, 
won  first  through  the  narrow  passage." 

"And  Mornay?" 

"Does  not  deny  it.  He  says  it  would  have 
been  impossible  for  a  gentleman  to  see  such 
ladies  thrown  into  a  dirty  ditchwater." 

"And  the  ladies,  man?  Who  were  the  la- 
dies?" said  Ferrers. 

"Aha!  that  is  the  best  of  it.  The  Spaniards 
relate  that  Mornay  came  down  from  the  coach- 
man's seat  wiping  the  blood  from  his  cheek.  To 
one  of  the  ladies  he  said,  'Madame,  the  kingdom 

5 


THE  LOVE  OF  MONSIEUR 

of  France  yields  precedence  only  to  a  rank 
greater  than  Majesty.  The  honor  France  loses 
belongs  not  to  Spain,  but  to  the  beautiful 
Barbara  Clerke.'  " 

Sir  Henry  Heywood  caught  at  a  quick  breath. 

"Mistress  Clerke!    My  ward!" 

Captain  Ferrers  looked  from  Downey  to 
Cornbury,  only  to  see  verification  written  upon 
their  faces.  He  pushed  back  his  bench  from  the 
table,  his  countenance  fairly  blazing  with  anger, 
and  cried,  in  a  choking  voice : 

"Mornay  again!  To  drag  her  name  into 
every  ordinary  and  gaming  hell  in  London! 
Coxcomb! — scoundrel! — upstart  that  he  is! 
Mornay,  always  Mornay — " 

The  candles  flickered  gayly  as  Monsieur 
Mornay  entered.  His  figure  and  costume  were 
the  perfection  of  studied  elegance.  The  peruque 
was  admirably  curled,  and  the  laces  and  jewels 
were  such  that  a  king  might  have  envied  him. 
A  black  patch  extending  along  the  forehead  gave 
him  an  odd  appearance,  and  the  white  brow 
seemed  the  more  pallid  by  contrast.  His  fea- 
tures in  repose  bore  the  look  of  settled  melan- 

6 


THE  FLEECE  TAVERN 

choly  one  sometimes  sees  on  the  faces  of  men 
who  live  for  pleasure  alone.  But  as  his  eyes 
turned  towards  the  table  a  smile,  full  of  carelesa 
good-humor,  came  over  his  features.  He  ad- 
vanced, pausing  a  moment  as  Wynne  and  Hey- 
wood  pushed  Ferrers  down  by  main  force  into 
his  seat. 

"Messieurs,"  said  Mornay,  smiling  quizzi- 
cally, "your  servitor."  He  stopped  again.  "1 
thought  my  name  was  spoken.  No  ? ' '  He  looked 
from  one  to  the  other.  "My  name  I  compre- 
hend, but,  messieurs,  my  titles — my  new  titles! 
To  whom  am  I  indebted  for  my  titles? 
Ah,  Monsieur  le  Capitaine  Ferraire,  mon  ami, 
I  am  glad  that  you  are  here.  I  thought  that  I 
had  fallen  among  enemies. ' ' 

He  laughed  gayly.  It  was  rippling  and  mel- 
low, a  laugh  from  the  very  cockles  of  the  heart, 
full  of  the  joy  of  living,  in  which  there  lurked 
no  suspicion  of  doubt  or  insincerity — the  situa- 
tion was  so  vastly  amusing.  Cornbury  laughed, 
too.  He  was  an  Irishman  with  a  galloping 
humor;  nor  was  Downey  slow  to  follow  his 
example. 

7 


THE  LOVE  OF  MONSIEUR 

For  Heywood  and  Ferrers  it  was  another 
matter.  The  elder  man  sat  rigidly,  glaring  at 
the  Frenchman  with  eyes  that  glittered  from 
lids  narrow  with  hate.  Ferrers,  disconcerted 
by  the  defenselessness  of  the  Frenchman,  sat 
stupidly,  his  features  swollen  with  rage,  his  lips 
uncertain  and  trembling  for  a  word  to  bring 
the  quarrel  to  a  head.  But  before  he  could 
speak,  Sir  Henry  Heywood,  very  pale,  had 
thrust  himself  forward  over  the  table  to  Mornay 
in  a  way  not  to  be  mistaken,  and  said,  briefly : 

"Gad,  sirrah,  your  laugh  is  the  sign  of  an 
empty  mind ! ' ' 

Mornay  was  truly  taken  by  surprise.  But  as 
he  looked  up  at  this  new  enemy  he  found  no 
difficulty  in  understanding  Heywood 's  mean- 
ing. He  rose  to  his  feet,  still  smiling,  and  said, 
coolly,  with  a  sedulous  politeness : 

"I  am  empty  of  brains?  It  takes  a  wit  like 
that  of  monsieur  to  discover  something  which 
does  not  exist." 

Captain  Ferrers  had  floundered  to  his  feet, 
blustering  and  maddened  at  being  cheated  out 
of  his  quarrel.  He  burst  violently  upon  the 

8 


THE  FLEECE  TAVERN 

colloquy,  and,  seizing  Heywood  by  the  arm, 
dragged  him  back  to  the  window-seat. 

"  'Tis  not  your  quarrel,  Heywood,"  he  be- 
gan. 

But  Sir  Henry  shook  himself  free  of  Ferrers, 
and  they  both  faced  Monsieur  Mornay,  who, 
somewhat  languidly,  but  with  a  polite  tolerance, 
stood  leaning  against  the  table  watching  this 
unlocked  for  development  of  the  drama. 

"Messieurs,"  he  smiled,  "an  embarras  de 
richesse.  Never  have  I  been  so  greatly  honored. 
I  pray  that  you  do  not  come  to  blows  on  my 
account.  One  of  you  might  kill  the  other,  which 
would  rob  we  of  the  honor  of  killing  you  both." 

Captain  Cornbury  until  this  time  had  been 
an  interested  and  amused  onlooker.  He  dearly 
loved  a  fight,  and  the  situation  was  enjoyable; 
but  here  was  the  evening  flying  and  his  game 
of  cards  gone  a-glimmering. 

"Zounds,  gentlemen!"  he  broke  in.  "A 
pretty  business — to  fight  at  the  Fleece  Tavern. 
Pleasant  reading  for  the  Courant — a  fitting  end 
to  a  comedy  begun  upon  the  street." 

9 


THE  LOVE  OF  MONSIEUR 

11  'Tis  not  your  quarrel,  Cornbury,"  growled 
Ferrers. 

"Nor  yours,  Ferrers,"  said  Heywood,  coldly. 

"You  see,  monsieur,"  said  Mornay  to  Dow- 
ney, with  mock  helplessness,  "there  is  no  help 
for  it." 

Cornbury  swore  a  round  oath : 

"I'  faith,  I  wash  my  hands  of  ye.  If  fight 
ye  must,  quarrel  dacently  over  the  cards,  man; 
but  do  not  drag  a  lady's  name  through  the 
streets  of  London. ' ' 

Mornay  turned  to  Cornbury.  "It  is  true, 
mon  ami — it  is  true."  Then,  in  a  flash,  gayly, 
aloud,  almost  like  a  child,  he  shouted:  "Allans, 
time  is  flying.  To-morrow  we  shall  fight,  but 
to-night — to-night  we  shall  play  at  quinze. 
Monsieur  Ferraire,  you  owe  me  three  hundred 
guineas.  We  shall  play  for  these.  If  you  win, 
you  will  die  to-morrow  with  a  clear  conscience. 
If  you  lose,  monsieur,  I'll  be  your  undertaker. 
Come,  maitre  d'hotel! — wine!" 


CHAPTER    H 
MISTRESS  BARBARA  DANCES  THE  CORANTO 

MISTRESS  BARBARA'S  deep-abiding 
dislike  for  Monsieur  Mornay  began 
even  before  the  struggle  for  precedence  be- 
tween the  French  and  Spanish  coaches.  Such 
an  incident,  grown  to  international  importance, 
might  have  turned  the  heads  of  ladies  with 
greater  reputations  than  hers.  Nor  should  it 
have  been  a  small  thing  that  a  reckless  young 
man  had  risked  his  life  to  say  nothing  of  his 
honor,  in  her  service,  and  got  a  very  bad  cut 
upon  his  head  in  the  bargain.  But  Mistress 
Clerke  was  not  like  some  other  ladies  of  the 
court.  She  had  heard  of  the  gallantries  of  Mon- 
sieur Mornay,  and  had  set  him  down  as  a 
woman-hunter  and  libertine — a  type  especially 
elected  for  her  abomination.  His  recent  atten- 
tions to  the  Countess  of  Shrewsbury  and  the 
engaging  Mrs.  Middleton  were  already  the 

11 


THE  LOVE  OF  MONSIEUR 

common  gossip  of  the  court.  She  herself  had 
seen  this  man,  perfumed  and  frilled,  flaunting 
himself  in  Hyde  Park  or  the  Mall  with  one  or 
the  other  of  his  charmers,  but  the  assurance 
which  made  him  successful  elsewhere  only  filled 
her  with  disgust.  What  the  Englishwomen 
could  see  in  such  a  fellow  it  was  difficult  for  her 
to  determine.  He  was  certainly  not  over-hand- 
some. What  strength  the  face  possessed  she 
ascribed  to  boldness;  what  pride  in  the  curve 
of  the  nose  and  lips — to  arrogance ;  what  sensi- 
tiveness and  delicacy  of  molding  in  lip  and 
chin — to  puny  aims  and  habits  of  fellows  of  his 
trade.  She  was  a  person  who  divined  rapidly 
and  with  more  or  less  inaccuracy,  and  so  she 
had  prepared  herself  thoroughly  to  dislike  the 
man,  even  before  his  own  presumption  had 
heightened  her  prejudice.  Mistress  Barbara 
had  first  won  and  now  held  her  position  at 
court,  not  by  a  lavish  display  of  her  talents  and 
charms,  but  by  a  nimble  wit  and  unassailable 
character  and  sincerity,  qualities  of  a  particu- 
lar value,  because  of  their  rarity.  This  was  the 
reason  she  could  discover  no  compliment  in  the 

12 


BARBARA  DANCES  THE  CORANTO 

gallantry  of  Monsieur  Mornay  on  Tower  Wharf. 
For  beneath  the  mask  of  his  subservience  she 
discovered  a  gleam  of  unbridled  admiration, 
which,  compliment  though  it  might  have  been 
from  another,  from  him  was  only  an  insult. 

Several  days  of  deliberation  had  brought  no 
change  in  her  spirit.  She  resolved,  as  she  put 
the  last  dainty  touches  to  her  toilet,  that  if  Mon- 
sieur Mornay  again  thrust  his  attentions  upon 
her  that  night  at  the  ball  of  the  Duchess  of 
Dorset,  she  would  give  him  a  word  or  two  in 
public  which  should  establish  their  personal 
relations  for  all  time.  And  as  she  stood  before 
her  dressing-table,  her  mirror  gave  her  back 
a  reflection  which  justified  her  every  jealous 
precaution.  The  candles  shimmered  upon  the 
loveliest  neck  and  arms  in  the  world.  The  fore- 
head was  wide,  white,  and  smooth,  and  her  hair 
rippled  back  from  her  temples  in  a  shower  of 
gold  and  fell  in  a  natural  order  which  made  the 
arts  of  fashion  superfluous.  Her  cheeks  glowed 
with  a  color  which  put  to  shame  the  rouge-pot  in 
her  toilet-closet.  She  was  more  like  some  tall 
Norse  goddess,  with  the  breath  of  the  sea  and 

13 


THE  LOVE  OF  MONSIEUR 

the  pines  in  her  nostrils,  than  a  figure  in  a 
world  of  luxury  and  pampered  ease.  Her  eyes, 
clear  and  full,  were  strangers  to  qualms  and 
apprehensions,  and  the  thought  of  a  possible 
scene  with  this  impertinent  Frenchman  gave 
them  a  sparkle  which  added  to  their  shadowed 
luster.  In  the  thinking,  she  did  Monsieur 
Mornay  the  honor  to  add  just  one  more 
patch  to  her  chin.  And  then,  of  course,  if 
trouble  arose  and  the  worst  came,  there  was 
Captain  Ferrers,  whom  she  might  marry  some 
day,  or  her  guardian,  Sir  Henry  Heywood,  who 
could  be  called  upon.  Little  did  she  know  of 
the  meeting  between  Mornay  and  Sir  Henry, 
arranged  for  that  very  morning,  which  had  mis- 
carried because  of  an  untimely  intervention  by 
the  watch. 

The  Duke  of  Dorset  danced  well.  When 
Mistress  Clerke  entered  his  ballroom  the  ta- 
bors were  sounding  for  a  brawl.  His  grace 
espied  her  at  this  moment,  and,  coming  for- 
ward with  an  air  of  the  grand  seigneur  which 
many  a  younger  man  might  have  envied  him, 
carried  her  off  under  the  very  noses  of  Wynne, 

14 


BARBARA  DANCES  THE  CORANTO 

Howard,  Russell,  and  Jennyn,  to  say  nothing 
of  Captain  Ferrers,  who  had  brought  her  there 
in  his  coach. 

It  was  a  very  merry  dance,  better  suited  to 
young  legs  than  to  old,  and  Mistress  Barbara, 
with  a  rare  grace,  put  even  his  grace's  spry- 
ness  to  the  test.  Monsieur  Mornay,  who  had 
just  come  in,  made  to  himself  the  solemn  prom- 
ise that  if  it  lay  in  his  power  she  should  favor 
him  upon  that  evening.  If  he  suspected  that 
she  would  receive  him  with  an  ill  grace,  he  did 
not  show  it,  for  he  made  no  scruple  to  hide  his 
open  admiration  as  she  danced  along  the  gal- 
lery. Twice  she  passed  the  spot  where  he  stood, 
and  once  she  looked  quite  through  him  at  the 
blank  wall  behind.  But,  unabashed,  when  the 
dance  was  done  he  lost  no  time  in  letting  the 
Duke  of  Dorset  know  that  he  wished  to  be  pre- 
sented, in  such  a  manner  that  recognition  would 
be  unavoidable. 

"With  all  the  good-will  in  the  world,"  said 
his  grace.  "Another  moth  to  the  flame,"  he 
laughed.  "Another  star  to  the  constellation. 

15 


THE  LOVE  OF  MONSIEUR 

Be  careful,  Sir  Frenchman.  'Tis  not  a  lady 
pleased  with  frivolity." 

"Monsieur,  behold,"  said  Mornay,  piously, 
"I  am  as  solemn  as  a  judge — as  virtuous  as 
— ma  foil  as  virtuous  as  the  she-dragon  duenna 
of  the  Queen." 

"Nor  will  that  please  her  better,"  said 
Captain  Cornbury,  who  had  come  up  at  this 
moment.  "I1  faith,  Mornay,  she's  most  difficult 
— as  full  of  whims  as  the  multiplication  table. 
At  present  she  spends  both  her  time  and  her 
fortune — where  d'  ye  suppose,  Monsieur  Mor- 
nay? In  the  fire  region  and  the  prisons. 
Strange  tastes  for  the  heiress  of  half  a  province 
in  France  and  the  whole  of  the  fortune  of  the 
Bresacs." 

' '  Ma  f  oi !    Une  serieuse ! ' ' 

' '  Ochone !  she 's  saucy  enough — with  a  bit  of 
a  temper,  too,  they  say." 

"But  the  prisons?" 

"Are  but  her  trade  to-day — perhaps  to-mor- 
row— that's  all.  "What  do  ye  think?  She  has 
but  just  promised  the  coranto  and  an  hour 

16 


BARBARA  DANCES  THE  CORANTO 

alone  in  the  garden  to  the  man  who  brings  her 
Nick  Rawlings'  pardon  from  the  King." 

"The  cutpurse?" 

"The  very  same.  She  says  'tis  an  old  man 
and  ill  fit  to  die  upon  the  scaffold. ' ' 

"Pardieu!"  said  Mornay,  casting  a  swift 
glance  at  her  train  of  followers.  '  *  She 's  more 
cruel  to  her  lovers  than  to  her  poor." 

Cornbury  laughed.  "I*  faith,  so  far  as  she's 
concerned,  they're  one  and  the  same,  I'm  think- 
ing. A  stroke  of  janius,  Mornay!  Have  your- 
self but  thrown  into  prison,  and  you  may  win 
her,  after  all. ' ' 

He  moved  away.  Mornay  looked  around  him 
for  this  scornful  mistress,  but  she  had  gone 
into  the  garden  with  Captain  Ferrers. 

"Mordieu!"  he  growled.  "There's  truth 
in  that  jest.  In  prison  I'll  be,  soon  enough, 
unless  the  King — "  He  paused,  with  a  curious 
smile.  "The  King — aha!  I've  a  better  use 
for  Charles  than  that,"  and  he  made  his  way 
to  the  retiring-room,  where  his  lackey,  Vigot, 
resplendent  in  a  yellow  coat  and  black  waist- 
coat, was  awaiting  his  orders. 

17 


THE  LOVE  OF  MONSIEUR 

The  night  progressed.  Came  next  the  coun- 
try dances — invented  upon  a  time  by  his  grace 
of  Buckingham's  grandmother  to  introduce 
to  the  court  some  of  her  country  cousins. 
Hoydenish  they  were,  but  the  sibilance  of  the 
silks  and  satins  and  the  flaunt  of  laces  robbed 
them  of  much  of  their  rustic  simplicity.  Mis- 
tress Clerke,  her  color  heightened,  held  her  court 
np  and  down  the  gallery,  until  Mistress  Stewart 
and  my  lady  Chesterfield,  in  turn,  jealous  of 
their  prestige,  called  their  recalcitrant  admirers 
to  account.  His  grace  of  Dorset,  somewhat  red 
and  breathless,  could  contain  himself  no  longer. 
"By  my  faith!"  he  said,  "Castlemaine  and 
Hamilton  had  better  look  to  their  laurels.  Nay, 
she  has  a  wit  as  pretty  as  that  of  my  lord  of 
Rochester." 

"But  cleaner,"  put  in  Jermyn,  dryly. 

In  the  meanwhile  Monsieur  Mornay  had  re- 
ceived a  packet. 

"In  God's  name,  what  have  you  done! "  (it 
ran).  "You  juggle  too  lightly  with  the  affairs 
of  nations,  Monsieur  Mornay.  'Tis  a  serious 
offense  for  you,  and  means  death,  or  the  Bastile 

18 


BARBARA  DANCES  THE  CORANTO 

at  the  very  least.  Here  is  what  you  ask.  I 
have  no  more  favors  to  give.  Leave  London  at 
once,  for  when  the  post  from  France  arrives, 
I  cannot  help  you. — C." 

Mornay  looked  at  it  curiously,  with  pursed 
lips  and  loose  fingers,  and  then  rather  a  bitter 
smile  came  over  his  features.  "  'Twas  too 
strong  a  test  of  his  fellowship,"  he  muttered; 
"too  strong  for  his  friendship  even." 

He  shoved  the  document  among  his  laces 
and  moved  to  the  gallery,  where  the  gentlemen 
were  choosing  their  partners  for  the  coranto. 
He  sought  the  Duke  at  once.  His  grace  was 
standing  near  Mistress  Barbara's  chair,  watch- 
ing with  amusement  a  discussion  of  the  rival 
claims  of  the  Earl  of  St.  Albans  and  Captain 
Ferrers  upon  her  clemency  for  the  dance. 

"Your  grace,"  said  Mornay,  "I  claim  your 
promise.  I  am  for  the  coranto." 

"With  la  belle  Barbara?  My  word,  Mornay, 
you  are  incurable." 

"A  disease,  monsieur;  I  think  fatal."  Mis- 
tress Barbara  beamed  upon  the  Duke.  Fer- 

19 


THE  LOVE  OF  MONSIEUR 

rers  made  way ;  he  did  not  see  the  figure  at  the 
heels  of  Dorset. 

"Madame,"  said  his  grace,  with  a  noble 
flourish  of  the  arm,  "I  present  to  you  a  gentle- 
man of  fine  distinction  in  Germany  and  Eng- 
land, a  gallant  captain  in  the  Marine  of  France 
— Eene  Bras-de-Fer — Monsieur  le  Chevalier 
Mornay." 

During  the  prelude  she  had  sat  complaisantly, 
a  queen  in  the  center  of  her  court.  But  as 
Mornay  came  forward  she  arose  and  drew  her- 
self to  her  splendid  height,  looking  at  the 
Frenchman  coldly,  her  lips  framed  for  the 
words  she  would  have  uttered.  But  Monsieur 
Mornay  spoke  first. 

"Madame,"  he  said,  quietly,  his  hand  upon 
his  heart,  "I  am  come  for  the  coranto." 

She  looked  at  him  in  blank  amazement,  but 
for  a  moment  no  sound  came  from  her  lips. 

"Monsieur,"  she  stammered  at  last  in  breath- 
less anger — ' '  monsieur — ' ' 

Mornay  affected  not  to  hear  her. 

"The  coranto,  madame,"  he  said,  amusedly; 
"madame  has  promised  me  the  coranto. " 

20 


BARBARA  DANCES  THE  COBANTO 

(t  'Tis  an  intrusion,  monsieur,"  she  began, 
her  breast  heaving.  Mornay  had  drawn  from 
his  laces  the  pardon  of  Nick  Bawlings.  Before 
she  could  finish  he  had  opened  the  paper  and 
handed  it  towards  her. 

"It  is  the  pardon,  madame." 

That  was  all  he  said.  But  the  crimson  seal 
of  the  crown,  dangling  from  its  cords,  caught 
her  eye,  and,  half  bewildered,  she  glanced  down 
over  the  writing. 

*  *  Clemency —  thief —  murderer —  Nick  Raw- 
lings — pardon? — a  pardon  for  me,  monsieur!" 

Monsieur  Mornay  showed  his  white  teeth  as 
he  smiled. 

"  Madame  forgets  her  promise  of  the  co- 
ranto.  Voild!  Here  is  the  pardon.  There 
is  the  musique.  Will  madame  not  dance!" 

A  silence  had  fallen  upon  those  within  ear- 
shot, and  not  a  couple  took  the  floor  for  the 
dance.  His  grace  of  Dorset  looked  serious. 
Sir  Henry  Heywood  thrust  himself  into  the 
circle.  But  the  music  tinkled  bravely,  and 
Monsieur  Mornay  still  stood  there,  awaiting 
her  reply. 

21 


THE  LOVE  OF  MONSIEUR 

The  struggle  lasted  for  some  moments.  She 
turned  white  and  red  by  turns  as  she  fought 
for  her  self-control  and  pressed  her  hand  to  her 
breast  to  still  the  tumult  which  threatened  to 
burst  from  her  lips. 

Captain  Ferrers  made  a  step  as  though  to 
come  between  them,  but  Monsieur  Mornay  did 
not  notice  him.  Nor  until  then  did  Mistress 
Clerke  break  her  silence. 

"Stop,  Captain  Ferrers,"  she  coldly  said. 
"I  will  dance  with  this — this  Monsieur  Mor- 
nay." Her  tone  was  frozen  through  and 
through  with  the  bitterness  of  utter  contempt. 

And  then,  giving  Mornay  her  fingers,  she 
went  with  him  to  the  middle  of  the  gallery. 
While  the  company,  too  interested  or  amazed 
to  follow  in  the  dance,  stood  along  the  walls 
of  the  ballroom,  Mistress  Barbara  Clerke  and 
Monsieur  Mornay  ran  through  the  mazes  of  the 
dance. 

Mornay  moved  with  an  incomparable  grace 
and  skill.  It  was  a  dance  from  Paris,  and  every 
turn  of  the  wrist,  neck,  or  heel  proclaimed  him 
master.  From  his  face  one  could  only  discover 

22 


BARBARA  DANCES  THE  COEANTO 

the  signal  joy  he  felt  at  being  honored  by  so 
gracious  and  beautiful  a  companion.  The 
countenance  of  Mistress  Clerke  betrayed  a  less 
fortunate  disposition.  In  the  bitterness  of  her 
defeat  by  this  man  whom  she  had  promised 
herself  publicly  to  demean,  she  maintained  her 
outward  composure  with  difficulty.  The  physical 
action  of  dancing  gave  her  some  relief,  but  as 
she  faced  him  her  eyes  blazed  with  hatred  and 
her  fingers,  fairly  spurning  a  contact,  chilled 
him  with  the  rigidness  of  their  antipathy. 

Twice  they  made  the  round  of  the  room,  when 
Ferrers,  who  had  mounted  the  steps  into  the 
loft,  bade  the  musicians  stop  playing.  A  look 
of  relief  chased  the  scorn  for  a  moment  from 
Mistress  Barbara's  face,  and,  as  though  half 
unconscious  of  Mornay's  presence,  she  said 
aloud,  in  a  kind  of  gasp: 

" Thank  God,  'tis  done!" 

They  stood  opposite  an  open  window  that 
led  to  the  garden.  Mornay  frowned  at  her. 

"And  the  hour  alone?"  he  asked.  "Surely 
madame  cannot  so  soon  have  forgotten?" 

Her  gray  eyes  had  turned  as  dark  as  the 
23 


THE  LOVE  OF  MONSIEUR 

open  window  looking  into  the  night,  and  the 
lids  which  her  scorn  let  down  to  hide  her  anger 
concealed  but  in  part  the  smoldering  light 
of  her  passion. 

"It  is  preposterous,  monsieur!"  she  said, 
chokingly.  "I  cannot!  I  will  not!" 

"And  your  promise,  madame.  Mistress 
Clerke  will  forget  her  promise  ? ' ' 

She  looked  about  helplessly,  as  though  seek- 
ing a  way  to  escape.  But  Mornay  was  mer- 
ciless. 

' '  Perhaps,  madame,  you  fear ! "  he  said,  iron- 
ically. 

He  had  judged  her  aright.  With  a  look  that 
might  have  killed  had  Mornay  been  made  of 
more  tender  stuff,  she  caught  her  gown  upon 
her  arm  and  swept  past  him  out  into  the  dark- 
ness of  the  terrace  beyond. 

The  air  was  warm  and  fragrant,  full  of  the 
first  sweet  freshness  of  the  summer.  The  light 
of  the  moon  sifted  softly  through  the  haze  that 
had  fallen  over  the  gardens  and  trembled  upon 
each  dewy  blade  and  leaf.  It  was  so  peaceful 
and  quiet! — so  far  removed  from  rancor  and 

24 


BARBARA  DANCES  THE  CORANTO 

hatred! — a  night  for  fondness,  gentleness,  and 
all  the  soft  confidences  of  a  tenderness  divine 
and  all-excelling — a  night  for  love ! 

This  thought  came  to  them  both  at  the  same 
moment — to  Mistress  Barbara  with  a  sense  of 
humiliation  and  anger,  followed  by  the  burst 
of  passion  she  had  struggled  so  long  to  control. 
She  stopped  in  the  middle  of  the  garden-walk 
and  turned  on  him : 

"You!"  she  cried,  immoderately.  "You 
again !  Has  a  lady  no  rights  which  a  man,  what- 
ever he  be,  is  bound  to  respect?  Why  do  you 
pursue  me?  Listen  to  me,  Monsieur  Mornay. 
I  hate  you! — I  hate  you! — I  hate  you!"  And 
then,  overcome  by  the  every  excess  of  her  emo- 
tion, she  sank  to  the  bench  beside  her.  Monsieur 
Mornay  stood  at  a  distance  and  occupied  him- 
self with  the  laces  at  his  sleeves. 

To  a  Frenchman  this  was  surely  an  ill-re 
quiting  of  his  delicate  attentions. 

"Madame,"  he  began,  calmly,  then  paused. 

*  *  No,  madame  does  not  mean  that. ' '  He  made 
no  attempt  to  go  nearer,  but  stood,  his  hand 
resting  upon  the  hilt  of  his  sword,  his  eyes,. 

25 


dark  and  serious,  looking  quietly  down  at  her. 

She  made  no  reply,  but  sat  rigidly,  her  arm 
upon  the  back  of  the  bench,  the  seat  of  which 
her  skirts  had  completely  covered.  There  was 
no  indication  of  the  turmoil  that  raged  within 
her  but  the  tapping  of  her  silken  shoe  upon 
the  graveled  walk. 

"How  have  I  offended,  madame?"  he  con- 
tinued. "Is  it  a  fault  to  admire?  Is  my  tribute 
a  sin?  Is  my  service  a  crime?  Have  I  not 
the  right  of  any  other  of  your  poor  prisoners 
— to  do  you  honor  from  afar?" 

"From  afar?"  she  asked,  coldly  satirical. 

Mornay  shrugged  his  shoulders  with  a  pretty 
gesture. 

"Ma  foi,  madame.  My  mind  cannot  imagine 
a  greater  distance  between  us — " 

"Monsieur's  imagination  is  not  without  lim- 
its, "  she  interrupted;  and  then,  after  a  pause, 
"In  England  a  lady  is  allowed  the  privilege  of 
choosing  her  own  following. ' ' 

"In  France,"  he  replied,  with  an  inclination 
of  the  head — "in  France  the  following  confers 
an  honor  by  choosing  the  lady." 

26 


BARBARA  DANCES  THE  CORANTO 

"Yes,  in  France,  monsieur.'* 

There  was  a  hidden  meaning  to  her  words. 

He  thought  a  moment  before  replying. 

"But  madame  is  of  a  house  of  France.  The 
English  Mistress  Clerke  is  also  tbn  French 
Vicomtesse  de  Bresac." 

She  turned  fully  towards  him  and  met  his 
gaze  steadily. 

"But,  thank  God!  the  part  of  me  that  is  Eng- 
lish is  the  part  of  me  which  scorns  such  atten- 
tions as  yours.  To  be  the  object  of  such  gal- 
lantries is  to  be  placed  in  a  class ' ' — she  paused 
to  measure  out  the  depth  of  her  scorn — "in  a 
class  with  your  Shrewsburys  and  Middletons. 
It  is  an  insult  to  breathe  the  air  with  you  alone. 
My  cavaliers  are  gentlemen,  monsieur,  and  in 
England—" 

She  broke  off  abruptly,  as  if  conveying  too 
full  an  honor  by  conversing  with  him;  and 
then,  woman-like,  "Why  did  you  save  the 
Spanish  coach?"  she  cried,  passionately. 

Monsieur  Mornay  smiled  blithely. 

"Madame  would  not  look  half  so  handsome 
dead  as  she  does  alive."  He  took  a  step  as 

27 


THE  LOVE  OF  MONSIEUR 

though  to  go  nearer,  and  she  rose  to  her  feet, 
turning  towards  the  house. 

"Come  nearer,  monsieur,  and  I — I  leave  at 
once.'* 

Mornay's  brows  contracted  dangerously  as 
he  said: 

"The  hour  is  mine";  and  then,  with  an  an- 
gry irony,  "You  need  not  fear  me,  madame.  I 
am  no  viper  or  toad  that  you  should  loathe 
me  so." 

She  looked  defiantly  up  at  him. 

"There  are  things  even  less  agreeable  than 
toads  and  vipers."  The  words  dropped  with 
cold  and  cruel  meaning  from  her  lips.  In  a 
moment  she  would  have  given  her  fortune  to 
withdraw  them.  Monsieur  Mornay  stepped 
back  a  pace  and  put  the  back  of  his  hand  to  his 
head  where  a  patch  still  hid  the  scar  upon  his 
temple.  He  stammered  painfully,  and  lowered 
his  head  as  though  bowing  to  some  power  over 
which  he  had  no  control. 

"You — you  mean  the  misfortune  of  my 
birth?" 

Mistress  Clerke  had  turned  her  face  away 
28 


BARBARA  DANCES  THE  CORANTO 

— _ 

again;  she  put  her  hand  to  her  brow,  her  look 
steadily  averted.  Deep  down  in  the  heart  she 
so  carefully  hid,  she  knew  that  what  she  had 
done  was  malignant,  inhuman.  Whatever  his 
sins  of  birth  or  education,  was  he  not  built  in 
the  semblance  of  a  gentleman?  And  had  he  not 
jeopardized  his  life  and  good  repute  in  her 
service!  It  was  true.  Whatever  his  origin, 
his  frank  attachment  deserved  a  better  return 
than  the  shame  she  had  put  upon  it.  If  he  had 
not  stood  there  directly  before  her  she  would 
have  said  something  to  have  taken  the  bitter 
sting  from  her  insult.  But  as  she  felt  his  eyes 
burn  into  her,  she  could  not  frame  her  words, 
and  her  pride  made  her  dumb. 

"Madame  has  heard  that?"  he  stammered; 
and  then,  without  waiting  for  a  reply,  he  said, 
with  a  quiet  dignity,  "It  is  true,  I  think.  If 
madame  will  permit,  I  will  conduct  her  to  the 
gallery. ' ' 

Mistress  Clerke  did  not  move.  Her  eyes  were 
fixed  upon  the  swinging  lanterns  at  the  end  of 
the  terrace. 

1 '  Come,  madame,  I  give  you  back  your  hour, ' ' 
29 


THE  LOVE  OF  MONSIEUR 

he  said.  "Nick  Rawlings  and  I  will  take  our 
liberty  together.  If  you  will  but  allow  me — " 

There  was  a  sound  of  rapid  footsteps  upon 
the  walk,  and  three  figures  came  into  the  glare 
of  the  shifting  lanterns.  In  the  colored  light 
Mornay  could  dimly  make  out  Ferrers,  Hey- 
wood,  and  Wynne.  Heywood  peered  forward 
into  their  faces. 

" Enough  of  this,"  he  said,  sternly.  "Mis- 
tress Clerke,  be  so  kind  as  to  give  your  arm  to 
Captain  Ferrers.  If  you  will  but  take  her  to 
the  Duchess,  Ferrers — " 

Mistress  Clerke  had  arisen  to  her  feet  and 
looked  from  her  guardian  to  Monsieur  Mor- 
nay, who  stood  at  his  ease,  awaiting  their 
pleasure.  She  opened  her  lips  as  though  to 
speak,  but  the  Frenchman,  with  an  air  of 
finality  which  could  not  be  mistaken,  bowed 
low,  and  then,  turning  coldly  away,  stood  facing 
the  darkness  of  the  garden. 


CHAPTER  IH 
MONSIEUR  MORNAY  BECOMES  UNPOPULAR 

THE  footsteps  of  Mistress  Barbara  and 
Captain  Ferrers  vanished  into  the  night. 
Sir  Henry  Heywood  moved  a  step  nearer  Mor- 
nay,  and  the  Frenchman  turned.  His  face 
shone  with  an  unwonted  pallor,  and  an  air  of 
distraction  had  settled  in  the  repose  of  his 
features  which  the  dim  light  of  the  swinging 
lanterns  could  not  conceal.  His  eyes,  dark  and 
lustrous,  looked  at  Sir  Henry  from  under  half- 
closed  lids,  a  little  ennuye,  but  with  a  perfect 
composure  and  studied  politeness. 

"It  is  unfortunate  that  we  cannot  seem  to 
meet,"  said  Sir  Henry,  struggling  to  control 
himself. 

"I  am  bereaved,  Monsieur  de  Heywood. 
Perhaps  to-morrow." 

"To-morrow?"  broke  in  Heywood,  violently. 
1 1  There  may  be  no  to-morrow.  I  will  meet  you 

31 


THE  LOVE  OF  MONSIEUR 

to-night,  monsieur,  here — now — at  this  very 
spot!"  He  nervously  fingered  the  laces  at  his 
throat. 

Mornay  paused  a  moment.  "Monsieur  de 
Heywood  would  violate  the  hospitality — " 

"Yes,"  interrupted  Heywood,  "we  shall  have 
no  constables  here — " 

1 1  But,  monsieur — ' ' 

"Enough!  Will  you  fight,  or  shall  I—"  He 
made  a  movement  towards  Mornay.  There 
came  so  dangerous  a  flash  in  the  Frenchman's 
eyes  that  Heywood  stopped.  Mornay  drew  back 
a  step  and  put  his  hand  upon  his  sword. 

"At  last,"  sneered  Heywood — "at  last  you 
understand. ' ' 

Mornay  shrugged  his  shoulders  as  though 
absolving  himself  from  all  responsibility. 

"Eh  bien,"  he  said.  "It  shall  be  as  you 
wish. '  ' 

There  had  been  so  many  duels  with  fatal  re- 
sults in  London  during  the  last  few  months  that 
it  was  as  much  as  a  man's  life  was  worth  to 
engage  in  one,  either  as  principal  or  second. 
But  this  affair  admitted  of  no  delay,  and  Fer- 

32 


MORN  AY  BECOMES  UNPOPULAR 

rers  and  Wynne  had  so  deep  a  dislike  for  Mor- 
nay  that  they  would  have  risked  much  to  see  him 
killed.  Wynne  found  Captain  Cornbury,  who 
hailed  with  joy  the  opportunity  of  returning 
Mornay  a  service  the  Frenchman  had  twice 
rendered  him.  The  gentlemen  removed  their 
periwigs,  coats,  and  laces,  and  when  Captain 
Ferrers  returned,  the  game  began 

It  was  soon  discovered  that  Monsieur  Mor- 
nay had  a  great  superiority  in  the  reach,  and 
he  disarmed  his  elderly  opponent  immediately. 
It  was  child's  play.  Almost  before  the  Baronet 
had  taken  his  weapon  in  hand  it  flew  to  the 
ground  again.  With  this  he  lost  his  temper, 
and,  throwing  his  seconds  aside,  sprang  upon 
the  Frenchman  furiously.  A  very  myriad  of 
lunges  and  thrusts  flashed  about  Monsieur  Mor- 
nay, and  before  the  seconds  knew  what  had 
happened  the  Baronet  seemed  to  rush  upon  the 
point  of  the  Frenchman's  sword,  which  passed 
into  his  body. 

Ferrers  and  Cornbury  ran  forward  and 
caught  the  wounded  man  in  their  arms,  while 
Wynne,  seeing  that  he  still  breathed,  ran  with- 

33 


THE  LOVE  OF  MONSIEUR 

out  further  ado  to  the  house  in  search  of  aid. 
Monsieur  Mornay  alone  stood  erect.  As  Corn- 
bury  rose  to  his  feet  the  Frenchman  asked : 

"Well?" 

"Clear  through.  There's  a  hole  on  both 
sides.  Ye  must  be  off.  They  will  be  here 
presently." 

"And  you!" 

"1*11  stay.  I  can  serve  ye  better  here";  and 
as  Mornay  paused,  "Come,  there's  no  time  to 
be  lost."  He  caught  up  the  Frenchman's  coat, 
hat,  and  periwig,  and  hurried  down  the  garden 
towards  the  gate.  Mornay  cast  a  glance  at  the 
figure  upon  the  ground  and  followed.  , 

"I  mistrust  Ferrers,"  whispered  Cornbury. 
"If  he  will  but  tell  a  dacent  story,  his  grace 
may  hush  the  matter.  If  not — " 

"Eh  bien — I  care  not — " 

"If  not,  'tis  a  case  for  the  constables,  per- 
haps of  the  prison;  'tis  difficult  to  say — a  plea 
of  chance-medley — a  petition  to  the  King — " 

Mornay  tossed  his  head  impatiently  as  he 
replied : 

34 


MORN  AY  BECOMES  UNPOPULAR 

"I  have  nothing  to  expect  from  the  King, 
Cornbury." 

"Tush,  man!  All  will  be  well.  But  do  ye 
not  go  to  yer  lodgings.  Meet  me  in  an  hour  at 
the  Swan  in  Fenchurch  Street,  and  I'll  tell 
ye  the  lay  of  the  land.  Go,  and  waste  no  time 
where  ye  see  the  lantern  of  the  watch, M  with 
which  he  pushed  the  Frenchman  past  the  grilled 
door  at  the  garden  entrance  and  out  into  the 
street. 

Monsieur  Mornay  paused  a  moment  while 
he  slowly  and  carefully  adjusted  his  coat, 
cravat,  and  periwig.  As  he  moved  down  the 
lane  in  the  deep  shadow  of  the  high  wall  in  the 
darkness  and  alone  with  his  thoughts,  his  poise 
and  assurance  fell  from  him  like  a  doffed  cloak ; 
his  head  drooped  upon  his  breast,  as  with 
shoulders  bowed  and  laggard  feet  he  walked, 
in  the  throes  of  an  overmastering  misery.  He 
passed  from  the  shadows  of  the  walls  of  Dorset 
Gardens  and  out  into  the  bright  moonlight  of 
the  sleeping  street.  Had  he  wished  to  hide  him- 
self, he  could  not  have  done  so  more  effectually, 
for  in  this  guise  he  made  rather  the  figure  of  a 

35 


THE  LOVE  OF  MONSIEUR 

grief -ridden  beldam  than  the  fiery,  impulsive 
devil-may-care  of  the  Fleece  Tavern.  When  he 
again  reached  the  protecting  shadow  he  sank 
upon  a  neighboring  doorstep  and  buried  his 
face  in  his  knees,  the  very  picture  of  despair. 
No  sound  escaped  him.  It  was  the  tumultuous, 
silent  man-grief  which  burns  and  sears  into  the 
soul  like  hot  iron,  but  knows  no  saving  relief 
in  sob  or  tear.  Once  or  twice  the  shoulders 
tremulously  rose  and  fell,  and  the  arms  strained 
and  writhed  around  the  up-bent  knees  in  an 
agony  of  self-restraint.  Ten,  fifteen  minutes 
he  sat  there,  lost  to  all  sense  of  time  or  distance, 
until  his  struggle  was  over.  Then  he  raised  his 
head,  and,  catching  his  breath  sharply,  arose. 

"If  there  were  but  an  end,"  he  sighed  aloud, 
constrainedly — "an  end  to  it  all!" 

Then  a  bitter  laugh  broke  from  him. 

"It  is  true — what  she  said  was  true.  I  am  a 
loathsome  creature — a  thing,  a  creeping  thing, 
that  lives  because  it  must,  because,  like  a  toad 
or  a  lizard,  it  is  too  mean  to  kill."  There  was 
a  long  silence.  At  last  he  brushed  his  hand 

36 


MORN  AY  BECOMES  UNPOPULAR 

across  his  forehead  and  rose  to  his  feet 
abruptly. 

"Bah!  a  bit  of  womanish  folly!"  he  laughed. 
"  'Tis  some  humor  or  sickness.  The  plague  is 
still  in  the  air.  Mordieu!"  he  shouted.  "There 
is  money  to  win  and  bright  eyes  to  gleam  for 
Monsieur  Mornay.  I  can  laugh  and  jest  still, 
mes  amis — " 

The  closing  of  doors  and  the  clatter  of  a 
coach  upon  the  cobbles  surprised  him  into  a 
sense  of  the  present.  A  footstep  here  and  there 
and  the  sound  of  shouts  close  at  hand  recalled 
him  to  himself.  He  saw  from  the  garden  gate 
of  Dorset  House  the  flashing  of  a  lantern  and 
heard  the  shooting  of  the  bolts  and  the  rasp  of 
a  rough  voice.  The  spirit  of  self-preservation 
rose  strong  within  him  and  put  to  rout  every 
thought  but  flight.  He  peered  cautiously  from 
his  doorway,  and,  finding  that  the  gate  was  not 
yet  opened,  he  went  forth  and  hurried  down  the 
street  and  around  the  corner  until  all  the  sounds 
of  pursuit  were  lost  to  hearing. 

By  the  time  Monsieur  Mornay  had  reached 
the  Swan  in  Fenchurch  Street,  he  was  so  far 

37 


THE  LOVE  OF  MONSIEUR 

in  possession  of  his  senses  that,  with  a  manner 
all  his  own,  he  roused  the  master  of  the  house 
from  his  bed  and  bade  him  set  out  a  cold  pate 
and  two  bottles  of  wine  in  the  back  room  up- 
stairs against  the  coming  of  the  Irishman.  Nor 
had  he  long  to  wait,  for  Captain  Cornbury, 
flushed  and  breathless,  soon  burst  into  the 
room.  When  he  saw  Mornay  his  face  relaxed 
in  a  look  of  relief. 

"Egad!  ye 're  here,"  he  said.  "  'Twixt  this 
and  that  I've  had  a  thousand  doubts  about  ye. 
For  the  present,  then,  ye 're  safe." 

Mornay  pushed  a  bench  towards  him. 

"Then  Ferrers  has — " 

"Ferrers  and  Dorset — I'  faith,  between  them 
they've  raised  the  divil.  And  Captain  Ferrers 
— by  the  ten  holy  fingers  of  the  Pope !  there  was 
a  fine  notary  spoiled  when  Ferrers  took  service 
with  the  King.  For  all  the  lyin'  scoundrels — " 

"He  accused  me?" 

"Egad!  he  swore  you  were  the  head  and  foot 
of  the  whole  business — " 

"Tonnerre  de  Dieu!    And  the  Duke?" 

"I  raged  and  swore  to  no  purpose.  Dorset 
38 


MORNAT  BECOMES   UNPOPULAR 

believes  Ferrers.  He  says  you  began  it  in  the 
gallery." 

The  Frenchman  looked  towards  the  ceiling 
with  hands  upraised.  "The  unfortunate  poli- 
tesse  of  Monsieur  Mornay !  The  English  I  can- 
not understand. ' ' 

"Ferrers  swears  it  was  a  plot  hatched  in  the 
Fleece  Tavern,  and  that  I  was  a  party  to  it." 

Mornay  arose  and  grasped  the  Irishman's 
shoulder. 

' '  You!  My  poor  friend,  YOU  ! "  he  exclaimed ; 
"and  I  disarmed  him  twice.  It  is  too  much — 
let  us  go  at  once  and  face  them." 

Cornbury  pushed  him  down.  "Ye '11  do  no 
such  thing.  'Twould  be  arrant  suicide.  The 
streets  are  full  of  men  looking  for  you  by  this 
— and  me,  too." 

"They  cannot — you  didn't  even  know." 

"  'Tis  true,  or  I'm  Dutch.  Look  ye,  man, 
we're  safe  here,  and  snug.  Four-and-twenty 
lances  couldn't  get  through  Tom  Boyle  down- 
stairs if  he'd  set  his  mind  to  stop  them.  Best 
awhile  and  compose  yer  mind.  Besides — " 
He  broke  off  abruptly  and  reached  for  the  bot- 

39 


THE  LOVE  OF  MONSIEUR 

tie.     "Give  me  a  drink — I  can  talk  no  more. 
The  words  are  all — parchin'  in  my  throat. " 

Mornay  sank  back  upon  his  bench,  while  the 
Irishman  filled  and  drained  his  cup.  At  last 
he  gave  a  great  grunt  of  satisfaction,  and  with 
smiling  face  set  the  vessel  down  upon  the  table 
with  a  clatter. 

' '  Ochone !    Talking  is  but  a  dry  thrade. ' ' 

"Allans,  Captain,"  said  Mornay,  "tell  me 
all." 

He  drew  the  platter  over  and  helped  himself 
liberally  from  the  pate. 

"Well,  monsieur,  when  I  went  back,  Hey- 
wood  was  making  a  kind  of  statement  to  Fer- 
rers— something  in  the  nature  of  a  dying  con- 
fession. It  appears  that  this  fellow  Heywood 
is  a  thieving  rascal,  and  if  ye  Ve  killed  him  'tis 
good  riddance,  say  I. ' '  He  paused  a  moment  to 
pour  his  wine.  "As  ye  know,"  he  continued, 
his  mouth  full — "as  ye  know,  the  man  is  the 
guardian  of  Mistress  Barbara  Clerke.  He  has 
the  disposition  in  the  law  of  her  fortune.  Well, 
from  what  he  confesses,  'tis  not  her  fortune, 
after  all" 

40 


MORN  AY  BECOMES  UNPOPULAR 

Mornay's  eyes  opened  wide  with  astonish- 
ment and  interest.  He  set  down  upon  the 
table,  untasted,  the  cup  he  had  raised  to  his 
lips,  and  leaned  intently  forward. 

"Is  it  true?"  he  exclaimed;  "and  Mistress 
Barbara  has  nothing — nothing  at  all?"  He 
broke  into  a  hard,  dry  little  laugh.  "Pardieut 
'twill  lower  her  chin,  I  'm  thinking. ' '  Then  his 
face  clouded  again. 

"Go  on,  monsieur,"  he  urged,  impatiently — 
"goon." 

"If  I  can  remember  it,  there's  a  bit  of  family 
history  ye  have  not  heard,  perhaps.  Well,  ye 
must  know  that  the  Chevalier  Bresac,  great- 
grandfather of  this  Mistress  Clerke,  bore  a 
most  intolerant  hatred  of  Spain  and  the  Span-> 
ish.  His  son  Rene  inherited  this  antipathy.  So 
when  he  married  an  English  girl  and  settled 
in  London,  he  vowed  that  if  any  one  of  his  three 
daughters  married  a  Spaniard  he  would  cut  her 
off  with  a  louis." 

He  took  a  long  draught  of  his  wine.  "Here 
is  where  the  confession  begins.  The  eldest 
daughter  disobeyed  and  married  a  Spaniard  in 

41 


THE  LOVE  OF  MONSIEUR 

Paris.  She  kept  the  marriage  from  her  father, 
and,  going  to  Amiens,  gave  birth  to  a  boy.  Be- 
fore she  could  summon  courage  to  tell  old 
Bresac  of  her  disobedience,  poor  cratur,  she 
died/' 

" Leaving  an  heir  to  the  estate." 

1 '  Not  so  fast.  Ye  see,  not  a  word  of  this  was 
known  in  London ;  nor  is  to-day.  At  her  death 
the  bulk  of  the  fortune  went  to  the  second 
daughter,  who  was  the  mother  of  this  Mistress 
Barbara.  The  third  daughter  married  Hey- 
wood's  uncle.  Of  this  there  was  no  issue,  but 
that's  how  the  man  came  to  be  the  guardian." 
Cornbury  pulled  a  pipe  from  a  rack  and  filled 
it. 

"Now  here's  the  villainy  of  the  thing.  This 
Spaniard  came  of  gentle  birth,  but  au  fond  was 
a  sodden  beast.  Heywood  went  to  Paris  as  the 
envoy  of  Wilfred  Clerke — Barbara's  father — 
and,  after  a  shrewd  bargain,  bought  all  the 
secret  papers  in  evidence  of  this  Spanish 
marriage. ' ' 

"And  the  real  heir?" 

"As  much  alive  as  you  are." 
42 


Monsieur  Mornay  contemplated  the  bottom 
of  his  bowl. 

"Mille  tonnerres!"  he  growled.  "  'Tis  the 
very  refinement  of  perfidy. ' ' 

The  Irishman  drank  deep.  "A  lucky  stroke 
of  yours,  Mornay,  I  say.  I  would  it  had  been 
mine." 

"What  became  of  the  papers?'* 

"That's  why  Heywood  confessed,  I  suppose. 
Ye  see,  he  loved  his  ward,  and  wanted  Ferrers 
to  destroy  them.  This  he  will  do,  I'm  thinking,, 
for  he  loves  the  lady  himself." 

"And  Mistress  Clerke?" 

"Hasn't  a  notion  of  it." 

Mornay  folded  his  arms  and  sat  looking  at 
the  floor,  a  strange  smile  upon  his  lips.  "Par- 
dieu!"  he  said;  "  'twould  touch  her  pride — 
'twould  wring  her  proud  heart  to  have  the  heir 
come  back  to  his  own. ' '  The  bitterness  of  his 
tone  caused  Cornbury  to  look  at  him  in  surprise. 

"Oh,  there's  never  a  chance  of  it,"  he  said. 
"You  see,  this  Spaniard,  D'Anasco,  put  the 
boy  upon  a  ship.  Why,  what  ails  ye,  man? 
What  is  it?  Are  ye  mad?" 

43 


THE  LOVE  OF  MONSIEUR 

Mornay  had  seized  him  by  the  arm  with  a 
grip  of  iron  and  leaned  forward  with  eyes  that 
stared  at  him  like  one  possessed. 

"The  name,  monsieur?"  he  said,  huskily — 
"the  name — the  Spanish  name  you  said — ?" 

"Gawd,  man,  don't  grip  me  so!  You've 
spilled  the  tobago.  'Twas  D'Anasco,  I  think, 
or  Damasco,  or  some  such  unspeakable  thing." 

"Think,  man — think!"  cried  Mornay,  pas- 
sionately. "  'Tis  a  matter  of  life  and  death. 
Was  the  name  Luis  d'Anasco,  of  Valencia?" 

It  was  Cornbury's  turn  to  be  surprised.  He 
looked  at  Mornay  in  amazement. 

"I'  faith,  now  you  mention  it,  I  think  it  was. 
But  how— " 

"And  the  name  of  the  boy  became  Kuiz? 
The  ship  was  the  Castillano?" 

Cornbury's  eyes  were  wider  than  ever. 

"It  was — it  was!" 

Cornbury  paused.  Mornay  had  arisen  to  his 
feet  and  stumbled  to  the  dormer-window,  where 
he  fell  rather  than  leaned  against  the  sill.  The 
Irishman  could  see  nothing  but  the  upheave  of 
the  shoulders  and  the  twitching  of  the  hands  as 

44 


MORNAY  BECOMES   UNPOPULAR 

the  man  struggled  for  his  self-control.  Corn- 
bury  was  devoured  with  curiosity,  but  with  due 
respect  for  the  Frenchman's  silence  sat  smok- 
ing vigorously  until  Mornay  chose  to  speak. 
As  the  Frenchman  looked  out  at  the  quiet  stars 
across  the  roof-tops  of  London  he  became 
calmer,  and  at  last  turned  around  towards  the 
nickering  candles. 

"Monsieur,"  began  Cornbury,  with  a  touch 
of  sympathy. 

But  Mornay  raised  his  hand  in  quiet  protest. 
"D'Anasco  was  my  father,  vottd  tout,"  he  said 
slowly.  And  as  the  Irishman  arose,  Mornay 
continued : 

"I  can  finish  the  story,  Monsieur  Cornbury,'* 
he  said,  lightly,  but  with  a  depth  of  meaning  in 
his  tone  that  did  not  escape  the  other.  "When 
the  boy  Ruiz  grew  old  enough  to  know,  the 
Spaniard  told  him  that  he  had  no  mother — nor 
ever  had — that  he  was  no-woman's  child.  He 
put  him  on  the  Castillano  and  sent  him  out  into 
the  great  world,  without  a  thought,  without  a 
blessing,  without  a  name — the  very  shuttle  and 

45 


THE  LOVE  OF  MONSIEUR 

plaything  of  fortune.  That  child,  Cornbury, 
was  myself." 

The  Irishman  put  his  arm  upon  Monsieur 
Mornay's  shoulder  and  clasped  him  by  the 
hand. 

They  stood  thus  a  moment  until  Cornbury 
broke  away  and,  with  a  shout  that  made  the 
rafters  ring,  again  filled  the  drinking-bowls 
upon  the  table. 

"A  health,  monsieur!"  he  cried.  "You'll 
never  drink  a  better.  To  the  better  fortunes 
of  Rene  d'Anasco,  Vicomte  de  Bresac!" 


CHAPTER  IV 
MONSIEUR  WAITS  UPON  A  LADY 

CAPTAIN  COBNBUBY  was  no  fledgling. 
He  was  the  younger  son,  none  too  high- 
ly esteemed  by  the  elder  branch,  of  a  hard- 
drinking,  quick-fighting  stock  of  ne'er-do-wells. 
He  knew  a  trick  with  a  sword,  and  for  twenty 
years  had  kept  a  certain  position  by  his  readi- 
ness to  use  it.  His  last  employment  had  been 
in  the  King's  service  as  captain  in  a  regiment 
of  dragoons,  but  he  lived,  of  a  preference,  upon 
his  wits.  There  was  never  a  game  of  dice  or 
cards  at  which  he  could  not  hold  his  own  at  luck 
or  skill.  Skill  at  the  Fleece  Tavern,  too,  often 
meant  dexterity  in  manipulation;  and  where 
every  man  with  whom  he  played  took  shrewd 
advantage  of  his  neighbor  there  was  little  to 
cavil  at. 

But  of  late  fortune  had  turned  a  wry  face 
upon  the  man.    His  regiment  was  disbanded  for 

47 


THE  LOVE  OF  MONSIEUR 

lack  of  money,  Ms  pittance  from  the  Earl,  his 
brother,  ceased  altogether;  and,  with  a  reck- 
less manner  of  living,  a  debtors'  prison  stared 
him  in  the  face.  He  sat  upon  the  couch  in  Mor- 
nay's  new  room  at  the  Swan  Tavern,  watching 
with  a  somewhat  scornful  expression  of  counte- 
nance Vigot  help  his  master  to  make  his  toilet. 
His  eyes  blinked  sleepily  at  the  light,  for  it  was 
high  noon ;  and  his  wig  having  been  removed  for 
comfort,  the  light  shone  brilliantly  upon  a  short 
crop  of  carroty-red  hair  which  took  all  the 
colors  of  the  rainbow. 

Mornay  wore  a  splendid  silken  night-gown, 
little  in  keeping  with  the  dinginess  of  the  apart- 
ment. "While  Vigot  dressed  his  master  rs 
peruque,  Mornay  told  the  Irishman  of  the  note 
from  the  King  and  of  the  arrival  of  the  post 
from  France,  with  the  news  of  the  anger  of  the 
Grand  Monarque  and  of  his  promise  of  death 
or  imprisonment  should  Mornay  be  brought  to 
France. 

Cornbury  pursed  his  lips  in  a  thin  whistle. 

" Viscount,**  he  said,  frowning,  "ye 're  skat- 
in'  on  thin  ice." 

48 


MONSIEUR  WAITS  UPON  A  LADY 

Mornay  had  completely  recovered  his  good 
spirits.  He  tossed  his  night-robe  to  Vigot  and 
snapped  his  fingers. 

"Mais,  monsieur,"  he  smiled.  "  'Tis  an  ex- 
ercise so  exhilarating." 

"D — n  it,  man,  'tis  no  time  for  jesting," 
growled  the  Irishman,  rising.  "The  post  from 
France  to-day  says  ye  are  to  be  put  in  the 
Bastile  or  have  your  head  chopped  off ;  in  Lon- 
don ye 're  a  fugitive  from  justice  for  killing; 
and,  lastly,  yer  good  friend  Charles  has  turned 
a  cold  shoulder  on  ye.  And  ye  talk  of  exhila- 
ration!" Cornbury's  disgust  was  illimitable. 

Mornay  dusted  a  speck  from  his  sleeve  and 
smiled  gayly.  "It  is  not  every  day,  my  good 
Cornbury,  that  a  man  may  become  possessed 
of  a  family,  a  fortune,  and,  ma  foi,  such  a  beau- 
tiful, scornful  she-cousin — " 

"Zoons,  man!  How  can  ye  prove  it  without 
the  papers?  The  mere  word  'D'Anasco'  will 
not  open  their  ears  or  their  hearts.  I  believe 
it,  but  who  else  would  f ' ' 

"I  can  prove  that  I  am  the  boy  Ruiz,  I  tell 
you." 

49 


"And  ye 're  fleeing  for  your  life!" 

Mornay's  face  grew  stern.  "Yes,  I  am  flee- 
ing for  my  life,"  he  cried,  "but  they  have  not 
caught  me  yet.  Last  night  I  would  not  have 
cared  if  they  had  sent  me  back  to  France.  To- 
day it  is  different.  They  have  robbed  me  of  my  r 
estates,  of  my  name ;  they  have  made  me  a  mere 
creeping  thing — a  viper.  Morbleu!  they  shall 
feel  the  viper 's  sting.  Monsieur  de  Heywood  is 
dead.  Mistress  Barbara  Clerke — " 

Cornbury  leaned  forward  in  his  chair. 
"Surely  you  don't  mean — " 

"Oh,  put  your  mind  at  rest,  mon  ami.  I  shall 
do  my  pretty  cousin  no  violence.  I  shall  see 
her — that's  all.  But  first — first,  about  the 
papers  with  this  Capitaine  Ferraire — " 

Cornbury  smiled  dryly. 

"Why,  ye  have  but  to  poke  a  nose  an  inch  be- 
yond the  door  to  be  carted  to  the  Tower.  How 
will  ye  see  Captain  Ferrers,  then?  'Tis  the 
height  of  absurdity.  Take  my  advice  and  keep 
close  till  ye  find  a  ship.  Then  set  your  course 
for  the  Plantations  till  yer  matter  is  cooled. 

50 


I've  a  debt  or  two  myself,  and  I'm  inclined  to 
accompany  ye.  * ' 

Mornay  looked  at  him  in  surprise.  "Why, 
Cornbury,  you  have  but  a  faint  heart!" 

"It  is  this  news  from  France — ye  have  no 
backing — " 

"Come!  have  done!"  cried  Mornay.  "You 
sap  my  will.  If  you  cannot  look  the  situation 
gallantly  in  the  face,  why,  then — "  He  stopped 
and  lowered  his  voice,  casting  a  glance  at  the 
Irishman.  "Mon  ami,  I  expect  too  much. 
More  than  I  can  claim."  Mornay  walked  to- 
wards the  door  and  took  Cornbury 's  cloak  and 
hat.  "Allans!  You  shall  leave  me  at  once. 
Your  only  danger  is  in  my  society.  Go  at  once 
upon  the  street,  and  they  can  prove  nothing; 
stay  with  me,  and  you  harbor  an  enemy  of  the 
state  and  a  fugitive  from  justice." 

Cornbury  threw  a  look  at  him  and  rose  to  his 
feet  with  an  oath.  "D — n  ye,  man,  d'  ye  think 
I'd  quit  ye  now?  Ye  give  me  credit  for  a 
smallish  sense  of  dacency."  He  walked  to  the 
window  and  looked  down  upon  the  street.  Mor- 

51 


THE  LOVE  OF  MONSIEUR 

nay  followed  him  at  once  and  took  him  by  the 
hand. 

"I  have  offended  you?  Forgive  me.  This 
matter  is  the  turning  of  gall  to  honey  for  me, 
Cornbury.  I  cannot  leave  it  without  a  struggle. 
I  pray  you,  bear  with  me." 

Cornbury  was  smiling  in  a  moment.  "What 
do  ye  plan?"  he  said. 

"Listen.  Vigot  is  clever.  He  shall  discover 
for  me  when  Captain  Ferrers  will  wait  upon 
madame,  ma  cosine.  I,  too,  will  call  upon  her. ' ' 

"And  ye've  just  killed  her  guardian!"  said 
Cornbury,  dryly.  "She'll  not  receive  ye  with 
kisses." 

Mornay  smiled  and  slowly  answered: 

"You  will  think  it  strange  that  a  gentleman 
should  intrude  upon  a  woman.  But  to-morrow, 
perhaps  to-day,  I  may  go  from  this  city  and 
country  forever.  Before  that  I  shall  make  one 
effort  to  establish  my  good  name.  I  shall  not 
succeed ;  but  I  shall  have  done  my  duty  to  my- 
self and  the  mother  who  bore  me.  As  for  the 
Capitaine  Ferraire — "  Mornay 's  eyes  flashed 

52 


MONSIEUR  WAITS  UPON  A  LADY 

ominously.    "If  I  knew  where  he  had  put  the 
papers — if  I  could  but  get  him  to  fight — " 

"Fight!  Ye  couldn't  coax  a  fight  from  Fer- 
rers with  the  flat  of  yer  hand.  He'd  rather 
see  ye  in  the  Bastile  or  the  Tower.  He's  too 
sure  to  take  any  risks.  Besides,  if  ye'd  kill 
him  the  papers  would  be  lost  forever.  No,  he'll 
not  fight.  He  owes  ye  money,  and  while  the 
constables  can  cancel  the  debt  ye  may  be  sure 
that  lie  will  not." 

Mornay  passed  his  hand  over  his  brow. 
"  'Tis  true.  But  I  must  see  them  together. 
That  is  the  only  chance.  I  will  go  to-day. ' ' 

"But  how,  Mornay?"  asked  Cornbury,  dryly. 
"In  a  coach  and  four?" 

Mornay  sprang  to  his  feet  in  delight.  "C'est 
ga!"  he  cried,  joyfully.  "Oh,  monsieur,  but 
you  have  the  Irish  wit.  Vigot  shall  bring  me 
a  coach.  I  shall  ride  in  state." 

Cornbury  rose  to  his  feet  angrily. 

"What  nonsense  is  this?"  he  cried.  Mor- 
nay smiled  on  him  benignly. 

"Can  you  not  see,  Monsieur  le  Capitaine? 
While  they  are  looking  for  me  at  the  Fleece, 

53 


THE  LOVE  OF  MONSIEUR 

in  Covent  Garden,  in  the  Heaven  Inn,  or  in  the 
Hell  Tavern,  here  will  I  be  riding  along  the 
Mall  to  the  very  place  they  would  be  least  likely 
to  look  for  me — in  my  lady 's  boudoir ! ' ' 

Cornbury  at  once  saw  the  value  of  the  plan, 
but  he  never  looked  more  sober. 

"And  after?"  he  asked. 

"After?"  replied  Mornay,  lightly.  "Aftert 
Monsieur,  you  leave  too  little  to  the  imagina- 
tion. I  think  but  of  the  present.  Le  bon  Dieu 
will  provide  for  the  future. ' ' 

Vigot  was  given  his  orders  to  make  shrewd 
inquiries  of  the  servants  of  the  neighbors  of 
Mistress  Clerke  as  to  the  hour  of  Captain  Fer- 
rers Js  daily  visits.  He  was  also  told  to  get  a 
coach  for  monsieur.  He  stood  puzzled  a 
moment. 

"Monsieur  wishes  a  haquenee?"  he  asked. 

"A  haquenee?  No,  sirrah!"  said  Mornay, 
brusquely. 

"A  pair,  then?"  he  asked,  scratching  his 
head. 

"A  pair?"  roared  Mornay.  "No,  sirrah! 
Foi  de  ma  vie!  I  wish  a  coach  and  four. 

54 


MONSIEUR  WAITS  UPON  A  LADY 

Twenty  guineas  at  the  very  least.  If  I  wait 
upon  madame  at  night,  a  dozen  links.  Be  off 
with  you ! ' ' 

Cornbury  shook  his  head  hopelessly. 

"Ye 're  going  to  your  funeral  in  style,"  he 
said. 

Mistress  Barbara  sat  alone,  looking  out  upon 
the  quiet  street.  While  she  looked  she  saw 
nothing,  and  every  line  of  her  figure,  in 
abandonment  to  her  mood,  spoke  of  sorrow  and 
distraction.  Her  eyelids  were  red,  and  the 
richly  laced  mouchoir  which  fell  from  the  hand 
beneath  her  chin  was  moist  with  tears/  Upon 
a  tray  were  the  dishes  of  a  luncheon,  untouched, 
and  a  number  of  papers,  some  of  them  torn,  fell 
from  her  hand  upon  the  floor.  A  dish  of  roses, 
a  few  French  romances,  a  manteau  girdle,  a 
copy  of  the  Annus  Mirabilis  of  Dryden,  a  pair 
of  scented  gloves  of  Martial,  and  a  cittern  in 
the  corner  completed  the  gently  bred  disorder 
of  the  room. 

True,  Sir  Henry  Heywood  was  no  blood  re- 
lation of  hers,  and  had  only  been  h«r  guardian. 

55 


THE  LOVE  OF  MONSIEUR 

A  man  of  the  world  in  the  worst  rather  than  the 
better  sense,  there  had  been  little  in  his  life 
to  appeal  to  her.  But  he  loved  her  in  his  own 
way  and  had  been  good  to  her  in  all  matters  that 
pertained  to  her  estate,  and  so  she  mourned 
him  as  one  would  mourn  the  loss  of  one  whom 
nearness  had  made  dear.  There  was  some  bond 
which  seemed  to  bind  them  more  closely  than 
their  mere  surface  relations  of  ward  and 
guardian — an  undercurrent  of  devotion  and 
servitude  which  she  felt,  though  she  could  not 
understand  the  meaning.  His  death  wrung  her 
mind,  if  it  did  not  wring  her  heart. 

And  by  this  Frenchman  I  There  had  been  a 
moment  or  two  of  regret  the  other  night  that 
she  should  have  used  this  Mornay  so  cruelly, 
a  moment  when  the  bitterness,  the  grief,  the 
utter  loneliness  and  longing  she  had  seen  in  his 
face  had  filled  her  rebellious  soul  with  compas- 
sion for  his  misery.  For  she  had  a  glimpse — 
the  very  first — of  his  pride  overborne  and 
beaten  to  earth  in  spite  of  its  mighty  struggle 
to  rise.  But  now!  Now,  whatever  regret  had 
sprung  into  her  heart,  whatever  kindliness,  had 

56 


MONSIEUR  WAITS  UPON  A  LADY 

been  engulfed  again  in  a  bitterness  wbich  cried 
ont  for  justice.  While  the  woman  in  her  had 
shrunk  from  the  thought  of  him  and  wished 
him  well  away  from  London,  a  sense  of  the  fit- 
ness of  things  called  for  retribution  for  the 
wrong  that  had  been  done  her  and  hers.  They 
had  not  caught  him  yet.  Oh,  he  was  cunning 
and  skillful;  that  she  knew.  But  Captain  Fer- 
rers had  assured  her  that  to  oblige  Louis  of 
France,  the  King  had  directed  all  the  constables 
of  London  to  be  upon  the  watch  for  him.  It 
could  not  be  long  before  they  would  have  him 
fast  behind  the  walls  of  the  Tower,  with  God 
knows  what  in  store  for  him  there,  or  at  the 
Bastile  if  he  were  taken  back  to  France.  The 
Bastile  T  She  shivered  a  little  and  put  her 
kerchief  over  her  face. 

"God  forgive  me,"  she  murmured,  "if  I  have 
misjudged  him ! ' ' 

There  was  a  commotion  below  in  the  street 
— the  sound  of  galloping  horses  and  the  rum- 
ble of  a  fast-flying  vehicle.  A  plum-colored 
calash  with  red  wheels  and  splendid  equipments 
was  coming  at  a  round  pace  up  the  street. 

57 


THE  LOVE  OF  MONSIEUR 

There  were  four  sorrel  horses,  a  coachman, 
footman,  and  two  outriders.  With  a  whirl  of 
dust  and  the  shouting  of  men  the  horses  were 
thrown  upon  their  haunches  and  the  coach  came 
to  a  stop  directly  before  Mistress  Barbara's 
door.  She  peered  out  of  the  window,  curiously 
agape,  to  know  the  identity  of  her  visitor. 
From  the  way  in  which  he  traveled  abroad  it 
must  be  a  person  of  condition — she  felt  assured 
a  minister  or  dignitary  of  the  city,  come  per- 
haps to  beseech  her  influence.  There  was  a 
glimmer  of  bright  color  in  the  sunlight.  A 
splendid  figure,  periwigged  and  bonneted  in  the 
latest  mode,  sprang  out  and  to  her  front  door. 
She  had  barely  time  to  withdraw  her  head  be- 
fore there  was  a  knock  and  her  lackey  opened 
in  some  trepidation. 

"Madame,  'tis  Monsieur  the  Vicomte  de 
Bresac — " 

"Did  I  not  give  orders — "  she  began,  and 
then  stopped.  "De  Bresac!  De  Bresac!  What 
can  it  mean?" 

"Madame,  'tis  a  matter  of  importance  and 
— er—  » 

58 


MONSIEUR  WAITS  UPON  A  LADY 

She  stood  debating  whether  she  should  call 
her  governess  or  deny  herself  to  her  visitor, 
but  before  she  could  do  the  one  or  the  other 
footsteps  came  along  the  hallway  and  the  lackey 
stepped  aside  as  Monsieur  Mornay  entered. 

Mistress  Clerke  turned  a  pallid  face  towards 
him.  She  stepped  back  a  pace  or  two,  her  hands 
upon  her  breast,  her  eyes  glowing  with  fear. 
Monsieur  Mornay  turned  to  the  lackey,  who 
still  stood  doubtful  upon  the  threshold.  The 
look  he  gave  the  man  sent  him  through  the 
doorway  and  hall,  where  the  sound  of  his  foot- 
steps mingled  with  those  of  others  without. 
Mistress  Clerke  cast  a  fleeting  glance  towards 
the  boudoir,  but  Monsieur  Mornay  had  taken 
his  stand  where  he  could  command  both  en- 
trances to  the  room.  She  scorned  to  cry  aloud 
for  assistance,  nor  would  she  risk  his  inter- 
ference by  trying  to  pass  him.  He  read  her 
easily.  She  made  no  motion  to  leave  or  speak 
to  him,  but  stood  against  the  wall  of  the  fire- 
place, her  muscles  rigid  and  tense  with  fear 
and  her  eyes  regarding  him  with  all  the  calm- 
ness she  could  command. 

59 


THE  LOVE  OF  MONSIEUR 

"Madame,"  he  said,  solemnly,  looking  out 
at  her  from  under  his  dark  brows,  "before  God, 
I  mean  you  no  harm ! ' '  He  said  it  as  though 
it  were  a  sacrament.  "In  half  an  hour  or  less 
I  shall  l:o  gone  from  this  room,  from  your  life 
forever.  But  you  must  hear  what  I  have  to 
say."  He  paused.  "No,  no,  madame.  It  is 
not  that  which  you  suppose — you  need  have  no 
fear  of  me.  It  is  not  that — I  swear  it ! " 

Mistress  Barbara  moved  uneasily. 

"I  pray  that  you  will  be  seated,  madame. 
Not  As  you  please.  What  I  have  to  say  is 
not  short.  Shall  I  begin?" 

"  'Twere  sooner  over,"  she  said,  hoarsely. 

He  bowed  politely.  "I  will  endeavor  to  be 
brief.  Many  years  ago,  your  great-grandfather 
went  to  Florida  with  the  expedition  of  Jean 
Bibault.  Perhaps  you  have  been  told  of  the 
massacre  by  the  Spanish  and  how  the  Seigneur 
de  Bresac  escaped  to  France?  Merci!  You 
also  doubtless  know  his  and  your  grandfather's 
great  hatred  of  the  Spanish  people  as  the  result 
of  this  massacre  ?  EJi  bien.  Your  grandfather 
told  hie  three  daughters — one  of  whom  was  your 

60 


MONSIEUR  WAITS  UPON  A  LADY 

mother — that  if  one  of  them  married  a  Spaniard 
he  would  refuse  her  a  part  of  his  fortune  and 
deny  her  as  a  child  of  his — " 

"I  pray  you,  monsieur — " 

"I  crave  your  patience.  Lorance,  your 
mother,  married  Monsieur  Clerke,  and  Julie, 
the  younger  sister,  married  Sir  George  Maltby. 
That  is  well  known.  The  elder  sister  was 
Eloise."  His  voice  fell,  and  the  name  was 
spoken  with  all  the  soft  tenderness  of  the  name 
itself.  "Perhaps  you  do  not  know,  madame, 
that  she,  too,  was  married — " 

"There  was  a  mystery,"  she  muttered.  "I 
heard — "  Then  she  stopped. 

"Madame  heard f"  he  asked,  politely.  But 
she  was  silent  again. 

"Eloise  was  married, "  he  continued,  "while 
visiting  at  the  chateau  of  the  Due  de  Nemours, 
near  Paris,  to  Don  Luis  d'Anasco,  who  was  a 
Spaniard.  Fearing  her  father's  wrath  and  dis- 
inheritance, this  unfortunate  woman  concealed 
the  facts  of  this  marriage,  the  record  of  which 
was  the  acknowledgment  of  the  priest  who 
married  them  and  the  statements  of  a  nurse 

61 


THE  LOVE  OF  MONSIEUR 

and  another  witness  who  had  accompanied  her 
to  Amiens,  where  in  or  about  the  year  1635  she 
gave  birth  to  a  son — " 

If  Mistress  Clerke  had  allowed  herself  to  re- 
lax a  little  before,  her  interest  now  had  dom- 
inated all  feeling  of  fear  and  suspense.  She 
leaned  a  little  forward,  breathless,  her  hand 
upon  the  chair  before  her,  her  eyes  fixed  upon 
the  lips  of  the  Frenchman,  who  spoke  slowly, 
concisely,  and  held  her  with  an  almost  irresisti- 
ble fascination. 

"The  saddest  part  of  the  story  is  to  come, 
madame.  The  mother  was  grievously  ill — she 
suffered  besides  all  the  pangs  of  solitude  at  a 
time  when  a  woman  needs  consolation  and  sym- 
pathy the  most.  Her  mother  had  died,  her 
husband  was  worse  than  useless,  and  she  feared 
to  let  her  father  know  the  truth,  lest  his  stern 
and  pitiless  nature  would  wreak  some  terrible 
vengeance  upon  the  Spanish  husband,  whom 
she  still  loved,  in  spite  of  the  fact  that  he  had 
married  her  for  her  fortune  and  not  for  her- 
self. She  had  almost  made  up  her  mind  to  tell 
her  father  all  when — she  died."  He  paused  a 

62 


MONSIEUR  WAITS  UPON  A  LADY 

moment  to  give  her  the  full  import  of  his  words. 
And  then,  looking  at  her  steadily  and  somewhat 
sternly,  "Her  son,  Kene  d'Anasco,  Vicomte  de 
Bresac,  is  still  alive.  '^ 

Mistress  Barbara  stood  looking  at  him.  He 
met  the  look  unflinchingly.  At  last  her  eyes 
fell.  When  she  lifted  them  she  did  so  sud- 
denly and  drew  herself  up  at  the  same  time,  all 
instinct  with  doubt  and  suspicion  of  this  man, 
who  had  first  insulted,  then  injured  her,  and  was 
now  seeking  to  rob  her  of  her  birthright. 

"And  you?"  she  asked,  bitterly,  her  scorn 
giving  wings  to  her  fear.  "And  you?  Can  I 
believe  you?" 

It  was  as  though  she  had  expressed  her 
thought  in  words.  Monsieur  Mornay  felt  the 
thrust.  But  where  the  other  night  it  could 
wound  him  mortally,  to-day  it  glanced  harm- 
lessly aside.  He  still  looked  calmly  at  her,  and 
the  least  perceptible  touch  of  irony  played  at 
the  corners  of  his  lips. 

She  mistook  the  smile  for  effrontery — for  the 
mere  impudence  of  a  man  without  caste  who 
recks  nothing  for  God  or  man.  She  flung  her 

63 


THE  LOVE  OF  MONSIEUR 

back  towards  him  with  a  sudden  gesture  and 
turned  towards  the  window. 

"You  lie,"  she  said,  contemptuously. 

Monsieur  Mornay  knit  his  brows,  and  his 
eyes  followed  her  angrily,  but  he  did  not  even 
take  a  step  towards  her.  His  voice  was  as 
low  as  before  when  he  spoke. 

"Madame  has  a  certain  skill  at  hatred,"  he 
said.  "Insults  fall  as  readily  from  her  lips  as 
the  petals  from  a  flower."  He  paused.  "But 
they  do  not  smell  so  sweet.  I  do  not  lie,  ma- 
dame,"  he  said,  with  a  gesture  as  though  to 
brush  the  insult  aside.  When  he  raised  his 
voice  it  was  with  a  tone  and  inflection  of  com- 
mand which  surprised  and  affrighted  her.  She 
turned  in  alarm,  but  he  had  not  moved  from 
his  position  near  the  door. 

"Hear  me  you  shall,  madame.  Listen." 
And  rapidly,  forcefully,  masterfully  even,  he 
told  the  story  of  the  fate  of  the  young  D  'Afiasco, 
called  Ruiz,  the  perfidy  of  the  drunken  father  in 
sending  him  away  upon  the  ship  Castillano,  and 
the  bargain  by  which  his  inheritance  had  been 
sold.  She  heard  him  through,  because  she  could 

64 


not  help  it,  but  as  he  proceeded,  and  the  names 
of  her  father,  Sir  Wilfred  Clerke,  and  Sir 
Henry  Heywood  were  mentioned,  she  arose  to 
her  full  height,  and  with  magnificent  disdain 
threw  fear  to  the  winds  and  said,  coldly: 

"Stop!  I  have  heard  enough."  And  with 
reckless  mockery,  "You,  monsieur,  I  presume, 
are  Rene  d'Anasco,  Vicomte  de  Bresac?" 

Monsieur  Mornay  bowed. 

The  door  of  the  room  opened  suddenly  and 
Captain  Ferrers  entered.  A  look  of  bewilder- 
ment was  on  his  features  as  he  glanced  at  Mis- 
tress Clerke. 

"Why,  Barbara  —  these  men  without  — 
What — T"  Monsieur  Mornay  had  turned  his 
head,  and  the  flowing  curls  no  longer  hid  his 
countenance. 

"I  was  expecting  you,  Capitaine  Ferraire," 
eaid  the  Frenchman. 

Ferrers  stepped  back  a  pace  or  two,  astonish- 
ment and  consternation  written  upon  his  fea- 
tures. Had  Sir  Henry  Heywood  come  back  to 
life,  the  Captain  could  not  have  been  put  into 
a  greater  quandary.  He  looked  at  the  French- 

65 


THE  LOVE  OF  MONSIEUR 

man  and  then  at  Mistress  Clerke  for  the  solu- 
tion of  the  enigma.  But  Mistress  Barbara  had 
sunk  upon  the  couch  in  an  agony  of  fear.  A 
moment  before  she  had  prayed  for  this  in- 
terruption. Now  that  it  had  come  she  was  in 
a  terror  as  to  its  consequences.  She  made  no 
reply,  but  looked  at  the  two  men  who  stood  a 
few  feet  apart  with  lowering  looks — the  Eng- 
lishman flushed  red  with  anger,  the  Frenchman 
cool,  impassive,  dangerous. 

Ferrers  spoke  first.  He  stepped  a  pace  or 
two  towards  the  Frenchman,  his  brow  gathered, 
his  shoulders  forward,  menace  in  every  line  of 
his  figure. 

"You  have  dared  to  force  your  way  into 
this  house  ? ' ' 

The  elbow  was  bent  and  the  fist  was  clinched, 
and  an  exclamation  burst  from  Mistress  Bar- 
bara, who  was  gazing  horror-struck  at  the  im- 
pending brutality.  But  the  Frenchman  did  not 
move.  The  only  sign  of  anything  unusual 
in  his  appearance  was  the  look  in  his  eyes,  which 
met  those  of  the  Englishman  with  an  angry 
glitter  of  defiance.  If  Ferrers  had  meant  per- 

66 


MONSIEUR  WAITS  UPON  A  LADY 

sonal  violence  to  the  Frenchman,  he  did  not 
carry  out  his  intentions.  He  cast  his  eyes  for 
a  moment  in  the  direction  of  Mistress  Barbara, 
and  then,  drawing  back  again  with  a  muttered 
exclamation,  made  straight  for  the  door.  Be- 
fore he  could  place  his  hand  upon  the  knob 
Mornay  interposed. 

''One  moment,  Ferraire.  My  men  were  told 
to  let  you  in — not  to  let  you  out. "  And  as  Fer- 
rers paused  a  moment,  "Have  patience,  Mon- 
sieur le  Capitaine.  Presently  I  will  leave  ma- 
dame  and  you ;  but  first  you  must  listen. ' '  Fer- 
rers had  grown  white  with  rage,  and  his  hand 
had  flown  to  his  sword  hilt.  He  looked  at  the 
quiet  figure  of  the  Frenchman  and  at  Mistress 
Barbara,  whose  eyes  were  staring  at  him 
widely.  He  bit  his  lip  in  chagrin,  and  then 
struggled  to  control  his  voice. 

"Your  reckoning  is  not  far  distant,  Mon- 
sieur Mornay,"  he  said,  hoarsely.  "If  there 
is  justice  in  England,  you  shall  hang  this  day 
week. ' ' 


CHAPTER  V 
INDECISION 

MORNAY   waited   while  the    Englishman 
smothered  his  rage.    Then,  with  a  sud- 
den motion,  he  brushed  his  kerchief  across  his 
temples,  as  though  to  wipe  the  clouds  from  his 
forehead. 

"If  madame  will  but  bear  with  my  brutality 
a  little  longer" — he  smiled — "a  little  longer — 
then  she  will  have  done  with  me  forever. ' '  The 
gesture  and  the  air  of  contrition  were  rather 
racial  than  personal  characteristics.  But,  as 
one  sometimes  will  in  times  of  great  stress, 
Mistress  Barbara  could  not  but  compare 
Mornay's  ease  and  sang-froid  with  the  heavy 
and  somewhat  brutal  bearing  of  Captain 
Ferrers.  She  hated  herself  for  the  thought, 
and,  as  Monsieur  Mornay  spoke,  turned  her 
face  resolutely  to  the  window  and  away  from 
him. 

68 


INDECISION 


"If  madame  will  remember  what  I  have  had 
the  honor  to  tell  her,  she  will  now  discover  how 
Monsieur  Ferraire  becomes  concerned."  He 
glanced  at  Ferrers,  who  stood  to  one  side,  his 
arms  folded,  his  features  sullen  and  heavy  with 
the  impotence  of  his  wrath.  The  Frenchman 
was  playing  a  desperate  game,  with  every 
chance  against  him.  To  unmask  the  secret,  he 
must  take  the  somewhat  heavier  Englishman  off 
his  guard.  Of  one  thing  he  felt  sure,  Ferrers 
knew  little  more  as  to  the  papers  than  did  Corn- 
bury  and  himself.  He  began  abruptly,  without 
further  preface : 

"Madame  has  just  learned  from  my  lips  of 
certain  matters,  Monsieur  le  Capitaine,  which 
bear  strongly  upon  her  interests  in  the  estate 
of  Bresac.  She  has  yet  to  learn  how  much  a 
part  of  it  all  you  have  become.  She  has  been 
told  of  the  fortunes  of  Eloise  d'Anasco  and  of 
the  rightful  heir  to  the  estates.  What  she 
wishes  most  to  learn  is  the  contents  and  pur- 
port of  the  papers  in  your  possession." 

Mornay  had  spoken  slowly,  to  give  force  to 
his  words,  and  the  effect  of  his  information 

69 


THE  LOVE  OF  MONSIEUR 

upon  Ferrers  was  remarkable.  The  lowering 
crook  came  out  of  his  brows,  and  his  hand 
made  an  involuntary  movement  to  his  breast, 
the  fingers  trembling  a  moment  in  the  air.  His 
face  relaxed  like  heated  wax,  and  he  stared  at 
the  Frenchman,  his  mouth  open,  the  picture  of 
wonderment  and  uncertainty. 

Mistress  Clerke,  who  had  been  about  to  speak, 
paused  bewildered.  Ferrers  stammered  awk- 
wardly, as  though  gathering  his  wits  for  a 
reply. 

"The  papers!"  he  gasped  at  last.  "The 
papers!"  And  then  with  a  futile  attempt  at 
sang-froid,  "What  papers,  monsieur?" 

If  the  Englishman  had  not  been  so  completely 
off  his  guard  he  would  have  seen  a  flash  of 
triumph  in  the  Frenchman's  eyes.  Mornay 
narrowly  watched  his  discomfiture;  then  con- 
tinued, quietly : 

"Monsieur  le  Capitaine  Ferraire,  Rene 
d'Anasco  has  been  found.  The  son  of  Eloise  de 
Bresac  has  come  to  life  and  is  to-day  in  London. 
He  knows  of  the  sale  of  his  birthright.  He  has 
discovered  the  proofs  of  his  mother 's  marriage 

70 


INDECISION 


and  of  his  birth  at  Amiens.  He  but  awaits  a 
favorable  opportunity  to  bring  the  matter  be- 
fore a  court."  By  this  time  Captain  Ferrers 
had  recovered  a  certain  poise.  He  swaggered 
over  to  the  mantel,  where  he  turned  to  Mistress 
Clerke. 

"A  fine  tale!"  he  sneered.  "A  pretty  heir, 
Mistress  Barbara,  to  send  a  hunted  man  as  his 
ambassador."  Then  the  presence  of  Cornbury 
at  the  dying  confession  came  to  his  memory, 
and  the  situation  dawned  upon  him  for  the  first 
time.  He  laughed  aloud  with  real  blatant 
merriment. 

"I  see!"  he  cried.  "It  is  you — you,  Mornay, 
the  outcast — Mornay,  the  broken  gambler,  the 
man  without  a  creed  or  country,  who  is  now  be- 
come the  Vicomte  de  Bresac.  It  is  a  necromancy 
worthy  of  Dr.  Bendo." 

He  was  firm  upon  his  feet  again.  The  very 
absurdity  of  the  claim  had  restored  his  heavy 
balance — somewhat  disturbed  by  the  announce- 
ment of  his  possession  of  the  papers.  He  turned 
to  Mistress  Clerke  and  found  her  eyes,  full  of 
wonder  and  inquiry,  still  turned  upon  him.  She 

71 


THE  LOVE  OF  MONSIEUR 

was  sensible  of  an  influence  which  the  French- 
man's words  had  wrought,  and  felt  rather  than 
saw  the  surprise  and  alarm  which  underlay  the 
somewhat  blustery  demeanor  of  Captain. 
Ferrers.  During  the  denouement  not  a  word 
had  passed  her  lips.  When  she  had  tried  to 
speak  it  seemed  as  though  she  had  been  deprived 
of  the  power.  She  had  sat  looking  from  the  one 
to  the  other,  fear  and  doubt  alternating  in  her 
mind  as  to  the  intentions  of  the  Frenchman. 
What  did  it  all  mean?  Captain  Ferrers,  at  the 
best  of  times,  was  not  a  man  who  could  conceal 
his  feelings;  but  why  had  he  lost  countenance 
so  at  the  mention  of  papers?  Why  had  he  not 
done  something  at  the  first  that  would  prove 
the  Frenchman  the  cheat  and  impostor  that  he 
was?  Why  did  the  irony  of  his  words  fall  so 
lightly  upon  the  ears  of  Monsieur  Mornay  that 
he  seemed  not  even  to  hear  them?  Why  were 
the  Frenchman's  eyes  so  serious,  so  steady,  so 
clear  to  return  her  gaze?  With  an  effort  she 
slowly  arose,  struggling  against  she  knew  not 
what — something  which  seemed  to  oppress  her 
and  threaten  the  freedom  of  her  speech  and 

72 


INDECISION 


will.  A  feeling  that  she  had  allowed  herself,  if 
even  only  for  a  moment,  to  be  influenced  against 
her  better  judgment,  filled  her  with  resentment 
against  this  man  who  had  broken  past  her  bar- 
riers again  and  again,  and  now  offended  not  only 
the  laws  of  society  but  the  laws  of  decency  by 
brutally  pushing  past  her  servants  and  holding 
her  against  her  will  a  prisoner  in  her  own  apart- 
ments. As  she  stood  upon  her  feet  she  regained 
her  composure,  and  when  she  spoke  her  voice 
rang  with  a  fearlessness  that  surprised  even 
herself.  It  was  the  exuberance  and  immodera- 
tion of  fear — the  sending  of  the  pendulum  to  the 
other  end  of  its  swing. 

"For  shame,  sir,  to  make  war  upon  a  woman ! 
Is  there  not  left  a  spark  of  the  gallantry  of  your 
race  that  you  should  break  into  a  woman's 
house  like  a  cutpurse,  a  common  pirate  and  out- 
law! Have  you  no  pride  of  manhood  left — no 
honor!  No  respect  for  the  sanctity  of  the  sex 
that  bore  you!  Would  you  oppress  and  hold  a 
helpless  woman  in  restraint!  Monsieur,  you 
are  a  coward ! — a  coward !  I  repeat  for  the  last 

73 


THE  LOVE  OF  MONSIEUR 

time,  I  do  not  believe  you.  I  would  not  believe 
you  if  you  gave  me  your  oath. ' ' 

Ferrers  said  nothing,  but  the  curl  of  his  lips 
told  the  volume  of  his  pleasure. 

They  were  dreadful  words  to  Mornay,  but  he 
looked  at  her  with  a  calmness  that  gave  no  sign 
of  hidden  discomfiture.  His  eyes  did  not  drop 
under  her  lashing  sneers.  Instead,  as  she 
paused  he  began  speaking,  with  a  quiet  insist- 
ence in  which  there  was  the  least  touch  of  pat- 
Tonage. 

"Madame,  hear  me  out,  I  pray  you.  I  have 
•come  brutally  into  your  house.  I  have  been  the 
bully  with  you  and  yours.  I  have  held  you 
prisoner.  To  ask  your  pardon  would  be  still 
further  to  insult  you.  But  I  leave  London  to- 
night and — "  As  Ferrers  interposed,  he  raised 
his  hand.  "Pardon,  monsieur,  a  moment  and 
I  have  done.  I  leave  London  to-night,  and  I 
shall  not  trouble  you  more.'* 

"Thank  God  for  that !"  she  said,  bitterly. 

Mornay  continued  as  though  he  did  not  hear 
her :  "I  have  broken  in  upon  you  because  it  was 
the  only  way  that  I  could  see  you — the  only  way 

74 


INDECISION 


that  I  could  tell  you  what  I  had  to  say.  That  I 
have  sinned  is  because — well,  because  I  had 
hoped  that,  after  all,  madame,  perhaps  the  blood 
could  flow  warmly  from  your  heart. ' '  He  tossed 
his  chin  defiantly.  "You  have  scorned  me  for 
one  who  bears  false  witness,  though  you  have 
seen  your  English  captain  go  pale  at  the  men- 
tion of  those  papers.  You  will  believe  what  he 
says  and  scorn  me,  in  whom  runs  the  blood  of 
the  same  grandparents  as  yourself.  You  have 
looked  upon  me  as  an  impostor..  Eh  bien. 
Think  what  you  will.  Impostor  I  am  not. ' '  He 
drew  himself  up  and  said,  clearly,  in  a  full  meas- 
ure of  pride  and  dignity,  "I  am  Rene  de  Anasco^ 
Vicomte  de  Bresac." 

He  moved  to  the  door,  looking  not  at  her  or 
even  noticing  the  contemptuous  laugh  of  Cap- 
tain Ferrers;  then,  slowly,  "I  leave  you, 
madame.  To-morrow  I  will  be  but  a  memory — 
an  evil  dream,  which  soon  passes  away.  You 
have  chosen  to  be  my  enemy  and  to  send  me 
away  from  you  in  scorn,  hatred,  and  disbelief. 
Let  it  be  so.  But  remember,  madame,  when  I 
am  gone  every  pretty  sweetmeat  you  put  in  your 

75 


THE  LOVE  OF  MONSIEUR 

mouth,  every  dainty  frock  you  put  upon  your 
back,  every  slipper,  every  glove,  every  ring  and 
spangle  that  you  wear,  is  mine — all  mine. ' ' 

She  shrank  back  with  horror  at  the  thought, 
and  Ferrers  broke  in  with  an  illy  suppressed 
oath: 

"One  moment,  sirrah!"  he  cried.  "If  the 
play-acting's  done,  I'd  have  a  word  with  you. 
Will  you  permit  Mistress  Clerke  to  withdraw  ? ' ' 

Mornay  took  his  hand  from  the  knob  of  the 
door  and  turned,  while  a  gleam  of  satisfaction 
crossed  his  features.  In  that  look  Mistress 
Barbara  read  a  sinister  intention.  She  thrust 
herself  before  Captain  Ferrers. 

"No!  No!"  she  cried.  "You  shall  not! 
There  shall  be  no  more — no  more  blood-shed- 
ding, Captain  Ferrers!  Let  the  man  go.  Let 
him  go,  I  tell  you !  Let  him  go !  As  you  love 
me,  let  him  go!" 

Captain  Ferrers  disengaged  her  arms  from 
about  his  shoulders,  while  Mornay  watched 
them,  half  amused,  half  satirical. 

"Fear  nothing  for  him,  madame,"  he  inter- 
rupted, dryly.  "There  will  be  no  fight  with 

76 


INDECISION 


Capitaine  Ferraire.  'Tis  only  a  touch  of  irrita- 
tion and  will  speedily  pass  when  I  am  gone." 
He  opened  the  door  and  called  into  the  hall, 
"Vigot!— the  coach!" 

But  Captain  Ferrers  had  put  Mistress  Clerke 
aside. 

1  'You  must  go!"  he  cried,  furiously,  almost 
jostling  the  shoulder  of  the  Frenchman. 

"Tush,  monsieur!"  said  Mornay,  sternly. 
"You  forget  yourself.  I  will  be  at  the  Fleece 
Tavern  to-night  at  eleven.  If  you  would  see 
me  before  I  leave  England,  you  will  find  me 
there.  Madame,  your  servitor."  In  a  moment 
he  had  closed  the  door  and  was  walking  down 
the  hallway. 

Monsieur  Mornay  knew  that  Ferrers  would 
lose  but  little  time  in  arousing  the  servants  of 
Mistress  Clerke,  and  that  before  he  should  have 
gone  very  far  upon  his  way  there  would  be  a 
hue  and  cry  after  him.  But  he  had  great  con- 
fidence in  Vigot,  and  the  coachman  and  out- 
riders were  rogues  with  comfortable  con- 
sciences, who,  if  they  were  well  paid,  could  be 
depended  on.  He  entered  the  coach  and  waved 

77 


THE  LOVE  OF  MONSIEUR 

his  hand.  The  coachman  snapped  his  lash  over 
the  heads  of  the  leaders.  The  fire  flew  from  the 
cobbles  as  the  animals  clattered  into  a  stride. 

The  vehicle  had  not  moved  its  own  length  be- 
fore Ferrers  and  two  lackeys  came  running  out 
of  the  house,  shouting  at  the  top  of  their  bent. 
But  Vigot  had  his  instructions.  The  lash  came 
down  again  and  the  horses  broke  into  a  brisk 
trot.  One  of  the  lackeys  sprang  for  the  bridle 
of  the  nearest  outrider,  but  the  horseman  gave 
the  man  a  cut  across  the  face  with  his  whip,  and 
he  fell  back  with  a  scream  of  pain.  Ferrers  was 
absolutely  helpless.  There  were  not  half  a 
dozen  people  in  the  street.  Monsieur  Mornay 
thrust  his  head  out  of  the  window  of  the  coach 
.and  took  off  his  hat. 

* '  The  Fleece  Tavern  at  eleven, ' '  he  said. 

Ferrers  hurled  a  curse  at  him  and  renewed 
his  shouting,  to  the  end  that  men  by  this  time 
came  running  from  the  houses  and  shops  farther 
up  the  street,  through  which  the  coach  must 
pass.  But  the  horses  were  moving  at  a  full  gal- 
lop. It  would  have  been  easier  to  stop  a  charge 
•of  cavalry.  Most  people  simply  looked  back  at 

78 


INDECISION 


Ferrers  and  stared.  One  or  two  venturesome 
fellows  rushed  out,  but  a  sight  of  the  resolute 
faces  of  the  outriders,  who  guarded  the  leaders ' 
heads,  was  enough  to  make  them  pause,  and  the 
coach  clattered  on  to  safety.  There  were  twenty 
plum-colored  calashes  in  the  city,  and  Mor- 
nay  knew  that  detection  would  be  difficult  if 
not  impossible  at  this  time  of  the  evening,  when 
the  streets  were  cleared  and  the  coach  could 
wind  deviously  to  the  distant  purlieus  of  Fen- 
church  Street.  Soon  the  clamor  they  had  made 
was  lost  in  the  turns  of  the  winding  streets,  and 
the  coach  was  brought  by  a  distant  route  to  the 
spot  at  which  Monsieur  Mornay  had  entered  it 
— not  a  stone 's-throw  from  the  Swan. 

Cornbury  was  awaiting  him  upstairs.  He 
had  puffed  the  room  full  of  smoke,  and  a  look  of 
relief  passed  over  his  face  as  Mornay  entered. 
''Well,  monsieur?"  he  asked. 

Mornay  did  not  answer.  He  tossed  his  hat 
down  and  threw  himself  into  a  chair. 

"I've  lost,"  he  muttered  at  last.  He  said  no 
more,  and  Cornbury  did  not  press  him  for  in- 
formation. But  presently,  when  the  supper 

79 


THE  LOVE  OF  MONSIEUR 

was  brought,  and  his  eye  alighted  upon  the  face 
of  his  servant,  he  broke  into  a  smile. 

"Ah,  Vigot!"  he  cried.  "Did  my  honest 
rogues  get  back  to  their  stable  ? ' ' 

"In  perfect  safety,  monsieur.  'Scaldy' 
Quinn  and  Tom  Trice  are  not  the  ones  to  be 
caught  napping.  They  only  wish  another  ven- 
ture in  your  service. ' '  Mornay  sadly  shook  his 
head.  "Vigot,  I  shall  need  no  further  service 
in  England.  You,  too,  shall  go  back  to  France — 
and  I — "  He  paused  as  a  sudden  thought  came 
to  him.  He  brought  his  fist  down  upon  the 
table.  "Parbleu!  Wait,  Vigot!  Perhaps  we 
may  yet  have  need  for  these  fellows.  Tell  them 
to  come  here  quietly  by  ten  of  the  clock. ' ' 

Cornbury  had  been  watching  him  narrowly. 
Now  he  broke  out  angrily. 

"Can  ye  not  be  satisfied?  Why  must  ye  go 
forever  risking  yer  neck  in  the  noose?  Ye've 
escaped  this  time.  How,  God  knows,  save  by 
that  presumption  which  ye  wear  as  a  garment. 
Come,  now,  I've  made  up  my  mind  to  go  to  the 
Plantations.  Take  ship  with  me,  man.  I  know 
of  a  venture  there  that  is  worth  the  pains  of  the 

80 


trouble  twenty  times  over.     Come  at  least  for 
the  present,  until  yer  peril  is  grown  less. ' ' 

Mornay  was  holding  his  chin  in  his  hand, 
lost  in  thought. 

"Mon  ami/'  he  said  at  last,  "I've  shot  my 
bolt  and  lost.  There  was  never  so  heartless  a 
maid  since  the  world  began." 

*  *  Tush,  dear  man !  Must  ye  be  forever  think- 
ing of  the  girl  f  A  wench  is  a  wench  in  England 
or  Ameriky. ' ' 

Mornay  arose  and  put  his  hands  frankly  upon 
the  other's  shoulders. 

"I'll  go  with  you,  my  good  friend,  where  you 
please — after  to-night. ' ' 

"Ay,  and  to-night — ye  may  go  to  the 
devil—" 

"  'Tis  so.  I  have  an  appointment  with  Cap- 
tain Ferrers  at  the  Fleece  for  eleven." 

Cornbury's  face  fell. 

"Egad,  man,  ye 're  incorrigible!  And  d'  ye 
think  he  '11  meet  ye  I " 

"I  don't  know.  He  may  not,  alone.  But  I 
think  that  he  will,  in  company.  If  he  does,  I'll 
not  fail  him." 

81 


"Don't  ye  go.  It  will  be  a  trap.  The  man 
will  not  fight,  I  tell  you,  while  the  law  of  Eng- 
land can  do  his  vengeance  for  him.  Ye '11  mn 
afoul  of  an  army  of  constables. " 

' '  I  know  it,  but  I  '11  risk  it. ' ' 

"And  if  ye  kill  him  ye  destroy  the  last  proof 
of  yer  birth, ' '  sneered  the  Irishman. 

"I  don't  know,"  replied  Mornay,  coolly. 
Cornbury  stormed  up  and  down  the  room  in 

a  rage. 

"Ye '11  have  your  will,"  he  cried,  "for  the 
sake  of  a  little  fight.  Go  to  your  death,  rash  man 
that  ye  are,  but  don't  say  that  I  haven't 
warned  ye." 

' '  Cornbury,  listen.  I  Ve  a  desire  to  look  into 
the  pockets  of  this  Capitaine  Ferraire. ' ' 

"And  what  do  ye  think  ye '11  find  there — the 
blessing  of  the  Pope?" 

Mornay  laughed  outright.  "Perhaps,  but  not 
for  me.  An  idea  has  grown  upon  me,  and  now 
possesses  me  body  and  soul.  It  is  that  these 
papers  are  in  the  coat  of  Monsieur  Ferraire." 

Cornbury  sent  out  a  sudden  volume  of  smoke 
to  signify  his  disgust. 

82 


INDECISION 


"P'sh!  Do  ye  think  the  man  has  but  one 
suit?  Ye '11  lose  your  labor,  sir.  He  has  hidden 
yer  proofs  most  secretly  by  this." 

"None  the  less,  mon  ami,  I'm  going  to  pick 
his  pocket ! ' ' 

There  was  a  thin  skim  of  storm  over  the  face 
of  the  moon  as  Mornay  and  Cornbury  left  the 
Swan  Tavern.  The  wind  was  fitful  in  the 
streets,  and,  though  the  season  was  June,  as 
they  passed  a  corner  now  and  then  a  heavy  gust, 
full  of  the  dampness  and  rigor  of  October,  flew 
full  in  their  faces  and  caused  them  to  pull  their 
summer  cloaks  more  closely  about  them.  Fol- 
lowing in  their  footsteps  were  three  men,  one 
of  whom  was  Vigot.  The  other  two  were  the 
rascals  who  had  served  as  outriders  to  Monsieur 
Mornay  in  the  afternoon :  Tom  Trice,  a  tall  and 
slender,  stoop-shouldered  man,  who  peered  un- 
easily to  left  and  right,  and  "Scaldy"  Quinn, 
who  was  short,  with  a  most  generous  breadth  of 
leg  and  shoulder.  The  Frenchman  had  paid 
them  liberally  before  leaving  the  Swan,  and  the 
understanding  was  that  they  should  follow  in- 
structions without  question,  and  if  necessary  be 

83 


THE  LOVE  OF  MONSIEUR 

prepared  to  strike  a  sturdy  blow  or  two  for 
monsieur,  who  was  going  into  the  camp  of  his 
enemies.  The  Fleece  Tavern  had  lately  gained 
a  bad  name  by  reason  of  the  many  brawls  and 
homicides  that  had  occurred  within  its  walls. 
The  place  was  not  inaptly  named,  for  its  master, 
Papworth,  took  money  when  and  how  he  might, 
and  bore  the  name  of  one  who  would  not  stop 
at  a  sinister  deed  if  it  would  avail  him  to  achieve 
his  end.  But  in  spite  of  its  disrepute  among 
the  more  careful  of  its  gamesters  at  the  court, 
the  Fleece  was  still  frequented  by  a  larger  fol- 
lowing than  any  other  gaming-house  in  London. 
There  was  more  money  to  be  seen  there.  Most 
of  its  rooms  were  filled  at  all  hours  with  a  mot- 
ley crowd  of  men  of  the  town,  noblemen,  and 
soldiers  of  fortune,  who  would  play  at  dice, 
basset,  and  quinze  for  days  and  nights  at  a  time, 
dropping  out  only  when  the  lack  of  food  and 
sleep  made  it  necessary. 

Cornbury  strode  along,  muttering  in  his 
cloak. 

"Why  go  on  this  d d  fool's  errand?"  he 

said,  at  last.  "Why  will  ye  not  take  ship  com- 

84 


INDECISION 


fortably,  like  a  gentleman?  Like  ye  the  look 
of  a  prison  that  ye  must  be  prying  and  poking 
yer  head  inside  the  bars?  Ye 're  a  fool,  man." 

Mornay  paused  to  look  at  him  curiously  for 
a  moment,  and  then  he  laughed. 

"I  am.  And  you  're  another,  mon  ami,  for  go- 
ing with  me. ' '  They  walked  along  for  a  moment 
in  silence  before  the  Frenchman  spoke  again. 
"Here  is  what  we  shall  do,  Cornbury:  Vigot 
shall  go  into  the  house  next  to  the  Fleece,  which 
is  upon  the  corner.  It  is  a  mercer 's  shop,  with 
lodgings  above,  to  let.  He  will  choose  a  room, 
and  so  gain  his  way  to  the  roof.  He  will  then 
steal  over  the  leads  to  the  dormer  of  the  Fleece 
and  down  into  the  hall,  making  all  clear  for  our 
escape.  The  other  two  rascals  will  enter  by  the 
cook-room,  and,  gaining  their  way  upstairs, 
await  our  signal  there.  We  will  then  meet 
Capitaine  Ferraire  and  his  friend  with  an  eye 
in  the  back  of  our  heads  for  any  signs  of  his 
followers. ' '  As  Mornay  proceeded  he  could  see 
the  eyes  of  the  Irishman  flash  with  delight  in  the 
moonlight. 

85 


THE  LOVE  OF  MONSIEUR 

"  'Tis  a  good  plan,"  he  returned,  "and  but 
for  one  thing — " 

"What?" 

"They  may  be  too  many  for  you.  Ferrers 
will  have  half  of  the  watch  with  him,  for  by 
this  there's  a  pretty  premium  upon  your  head." 

*  *  The  more  credit,  then,  in  outwitting  them ' ' ; 
and  then,  sinking  his  voice, ' '  Silence,  monsieur, 
we  are  already  in  the  shadow  of  St.  Paul's." 


CHAPTER  VI 
THE  ESCAPE 

THEY  walked  quickly  along  under  a  wall, 
keeping  in  the  shadow.  Vigot  received  his 
orders  and  went  forward  alone.  When  last  they 
saw  him  he  was  swaggering  and  staggering  by 
turns  up  to  the  mercer's,  where  he  began 
pounding  lustily  upon  the  door  for  admittance. 
Trice  and  Quinn  Mornay  despatched  by  a  side 
street  to  approach  the  tavern  from  another 
direction. 

At  the  Fleece  there  was  no  unusual  sign. 
From  an  open  window  came  the  rattle  of  dice, 
the  clink  of  the  counters,  and  the  laughter  of 
men.  The  night  being  still  young,  many  people 
were  passing  to  and  fro  upon  the  streets,  and 
Mornay  and  Cornbury,  wrapped  in  their  cloaks, 
looking  neither  to  the  right  nor  left,  pushed 
open  the  door  at  the  front  and  walked  boldly 
into  the  room.  Several  drinkers  lounged  upon 

87 


THE  LOVE  OF  MONSIEUR 

the  benches,  and  there  was  a  game  of  basset  in 
the  corner,  but  the  players  were  so  intent  that 
they  had  no  eyes  for  the  new  arrivals.  Corn- 
bury  drummed  loudly  upon  the  floor  with  his 
foot,  and  one  of  the  fellows,  a  pigeon-breasted 
ensign  in  a  dragoon  regiment,  cast  a  loser's 
curse  over  his  shoulder,  but  failed  to  recognize 
them.  They  ordered  a  drink  and  the  room  on 
the  second  floor  at  the  head  of  the  stairway. 

Mornay's  reasons  for  this  were  obvious.  He 
wanted  a  narrow  passage,  where  more  than 
two  men  would  be  at  a  disadvantage,  and  where 
all  opportunity  for  outside  interference  would 
be  obviated.  The  host  himself  brought  their 
lights  and  bottles.  When  he  saw  that  it  was 
Monsieur  Momay  who  was  his  guest,  he  started 
back  in  amazement. 

''Monsieur!"  he  cried.  "You?  I  thought — " 

"Sh —  Yes,  it  is  I.  But  keep  your  tongue, 
Papworth.  Is  Captain  Ferrers  here!" 

"No,  sir.  Two  notes  have  arrived  for  him, 
but—" 

Mornay  glanced  significantly  at  the  Irishman. 

"You  think  he  will  come?" 
88 


THE  ESCAPE 


"I  should  be  sure  of  it,  sir." 

"Very  good.  When  he  comes  tell  him  Cap- 
tain Cornbury  and  I  are  awaiting  him." 

"But,  sir,  if  you'll  pardon  me,  the  Fleece 
Tavern  is  no  place  for  you,  sir.  There's  been 
constables  watching  for  you  all  yesterday  and 
to-day. ' ' 

Mornay  laughed  a  little  to  himself. 

"  'Tis  plain  I'm  too  popular.  Listen,  Pap- 
worth.  I  did  you  a  good  turn  with  the  King 
when  Captain  Lyall  was  killed  in  your  garden. 
Now  you  can  return  me  the  compliment. ' ' 

"Yes,  monsieur,  but — " 

"I'll  have  no  refusal." 

The  man  rubbed  his  chin  dubiously  while 
Cornbury  told  him  their  plans.  When  the  Irish- 
man had  finished,  Mornay  slipped  a  handful  of 
coins  into  his  palm,  which  worked  a  transforma- 
tion in  his  point  of  view. 

"I'll  do  what  I  can,  monsieur,"  he  said,  jin- 
gling the  money.  "But  if  there's  to  be  fight- 
ing, the  Fleece  will  lose  its  good  repute  for- 
ever." Mornay  and  Cornbury  both  laughed  at 

89 


THE  LOVE  OF  MONSIEUR 

the  long  face  and  hollow  note  of  virtuous  regret- 
fulness  and  resignation  in  his  voice. 

"Ochone!  If  there  has  been  a  duel  in  yer 
garden  once  in  forty  years,  I'd  never  be  the 
man  to  suspect  it,"  said  the  Irishman.  The 
landlord  raised  a  deprecating  hand  and  disap- 
peared. 

' '  The  garden  ? ' '  growled  Mornay.  *  *  I  hope  it 
may  not  be  necessary  to  carry  this  matter 
there." 

"But  have  ye  thought?  He  may  not  come  up 
to  yer  room!" 

"He  must—  " 

There  was  a  cautious  knock  at  the  door,  and 
Vigot  entered,  despair  and  distress  written 
upon  his  features. 

"Monsieur!  Ill  news  I  There  was  no  room 
to  let  at  the  mercer's.  To-morrow  is  market- 
day,  and  the  house  is  full  to  the  garret.  He 
would  not  let  me  even  inside  the  door." 

"Tonnerre  de  Dieu!" 

"And  worse  yet,  monsieur — this  place  is 
watched.  A  number  of  black,  silent  figures  are 
regarding  it  from  the  shadows — " 

90 


THE  ESCAPE 


"Ye  have  read  the  man  aright,  Mornay," 
said  Cornbury. 

"Mille  diables!  We  must  go  by  the  roof.  It 
is  our  only  chance.  Listen,  Vigot.  Do  you  go 
up  those  stairs  and  out  upon  the  leads.  Curse 
the  fellow !  if  you  cannot  get  into  his  house  at 
the  bottom  you  must  get  in  at  the  top. ' ' 

Vigot  was  off  again  as  the  landlord  entered. 

"Monsieur  Mornay,  Captain  Ferrers  awaits 
you  below. ' ' 

A  quick  glance  passed  between  the  two  men. 
Mornay  paused  a  moment  before  replying. 

"Tell  him,  Papworth,"  he  said,  coolly,  "that 
Monsieur  Mornay  has  a  quiet  room  upstairs 
where  matters  can  be  privately  discussed.  I 
will  await  him  here." 

The  man  departed. 

Cornbury  drained  his  bowl. 

"The  man's  an  arrant  coward.  Ten  guineas 
that  he  doesn't  come.  Why,  monsieur,  he 
couldn't  have  entrapped  us  better  himself. 
Ye've  made  the  bait  too  tempting.  He'll  smell 
a  rat." 

91 


THE  LOVE  OF  MONSIEUR 

"Pouf !  Cornbury,  he  has  it  all  his  own  way. 
Twenty  guineas  that  he  comes. ' ' 

Cornbury  did  not  answer;  he  was  bending  to- 
wards the  door,  his  mouth  and  eyes  agape,  as 
though  to  make  his  hearing  better.  But  only 
the  clatter  of  the  game  and  the  sound  of  the 
coarsened  voices  of  the  players  came  up  the 
dimly  lighted  stairway.  Upon  the  coming  of 
this  man  hung  Mornay's  only  chance  for 
success. 

Five  minutes  they  waited  in  silence,  but  at 
last  there  was  a  sound  of  footsteps  upon  the 
stairs,  and  in  a  moment  Captain  Ferrers  and 
Mr.  Wynne  stood  before  them.  The  exuber- 
ance and  confidence  of  Captain  Ferrers 's  smile 
found  no  echo  in  the  face  of  Wynne,  who  looked 
sullenly  and  suspiciously  at  Cornbury  and  the 
Frenchman,  as  though  the  adventure  were  little 
to  his  liking.  Mornay  arose  from  his  bench  with 
great  politeness,  the  perfection  of  courtesy  and 
good-will,  and  waved  Captain  Ferrers  to  a  seat. 
Cornbury  sat  puffing  volumes  of  smoke,  with 
an  appearance  of  great  contentment  and  un- 
concern. 

92 


THE  ESCAPE 


Captain  Ferrers  was  clearly  taken  off  his 
guard,  and  his  smile  became  the  broader.  He 
had  at  first  thought  Monsieur  Mornay's  prom- 
ise to  come  to  the  Fleece  a  mere  French  flip- 
pancy. Surely,  after  what  had  happened  he 
could  expect  no  clemency  from  Ferrers.  Mon- 
sieur Mornay  would  have  been  flattered  had  he 
known  how  much  of  Captain  Ferrers 's  thoughts 
he  had  occupied  during  the  last  few  hours.  The 
Frenchman 's  demeanor  in  the  house  of  Mistress 
Clerke,  his  earnestness,  his  self-confidence,  his 
assurance  and  poise,  outdid  anything  that 
Ferrers  remembered  of  that  presumptuous  per- 
son. A  man  with  one  leg  in  the  grave  or  a  life- 
time of  imprisonment  staring  him  in  the  face 
would  only  play  such  a  part  because  of  one  or 
two  circumstances:  he  was  using  a  desperate 
resort  to  gain  some  great  end — perhaps  to  in- 
fluence Mistress  Barbara  for  clemency  in  the 
case  of  the  death  of  Sir  Henry  Heywood;  or 
else  he  was  the  real  heir  of  the  estate  which 
Mistress  Barbara  was  enjoying.  To  tell  the 
truth,  Ferrers  did  not  care  what  he  was.  If  the 
Frenchman  came  to  the  Fleece  Tavern,  he  would 

93 


THE  LOVE  OF  MONSIEUR 

be  in  the  Tower  by  midnight.  The  prison  would 
know  no  distinctions.  He  hated  this  man  as  one 
hates  another  to  whom  he  is  under  obligations 
and  who  has  done  him  a  great  injury.  And  if 
he  was  the  real  heir,  come  to  dispossess  Mistress 
Barbara  and  balk  him  in  a  marriage  that  meant 
a  fortune  beyond  the  wildest  dreams,  the  worse 
for  him.  He  should  suffer  for  it ! 

All  of  these  things  passed  again  somewhat 
heavily  through  his  mind.  The  air  of  unconcern 
and  assurance  which  he  met  in  the  faces  of  both 
Mornay  and  the  Irishman  disarmed  him.  He 
thought  how  easy  it  had  been  to  gain  his  ends, 
and  comfortably  fingered  the  whistle  in  his 
pocket  with  which  he  should  presently  call  in 
his  hounds  upon  his  enemy.  Nor  would  his 
pistols  be  required.  If  he  had  wished  he  could 
have  sent  his  constables  up  from  below  to  take 
these  men  in  the  trap  they  had  made  for  them- 
selves. But  he  enjoyed  the  situation.  It  was 
as  easy  as  a  game  of  quinze  with  the  mirror 
behind  your  opponent's  back. 

"Monsieur  Ferraire,"  began  Mornay,  pleas- 
antly, "I  am  meeting  you  to-night  at  great  risk 

94 


THE  ESCAPE 


of  my  life.  I  thank  you  that  you  have  kept  my 
plans  and  this  rendezvous  a  secret." 

Ferrers 's  small  eyes  blinked  as  though  they 
had  been  liberally  peppered,  but  the  smile  did 
not  disappear. 

"What  I  have  to  say  is  to  your  great  ad- 
vantage. If  after  I  am  through  you  still  wish  to 
meet  me,  I  shall  be  at  your  service  below  in  the 
garden,  or  elsewhere.  Will  you  sit  down?" 

The  Captain's  lip  twitched  a  little  and  his 
fingers  left  the  whistle  and  moved  to  a  chair- 
back. 

It  was  apparent  that  Mornay's  mind  was  a 
thousand  miles  from  all  thought  of  distrust  or 
suspicion.  He  was  as  guileless  as  a  child. 
Cornbury  had  filled  another  pipe  and  crossed  his 
legs. 

"It  will  be  useless  to  sit  or  talk,  monsieur," 
said  Ferrers,  coldly.  "I  have  brought  Mr. 
Wynne  with  an  object  which  cannot  be  mis- 
taken. If  you  are  agreeable,  Mr.  Wynne  will 
talk  with  Captain  Cornbury  as  to  the  arrange- 
ments." He  folded  his  arms  and  walked  to  the 

95 


THE  LOVE  OF  MONSIEUR 

window  with  an  air  of  rounding  off  a  conver- 
sation. 

Mornay  arose  from  his  seat  and  walked 
around  the  table  to  the  side  nearest  the  door. 

"You  must  hear  me,  monsieur, "  he  said, 
calmly.  "I  offer  you  friendship  and  a  proposi- 
tion which  cannot  but  be  to  your  advantage." 
Ferrers  had  turned,  but  his  head  shook  in  re- 
fusal. 

"There  can  be  but  one  proposition  between 
us,  Mornay. " 

Mornay  shrugged  his  shoulders. 

"Captain  Cornbury,"  he  said,  "will  you  have 
the  kindness  to  arrange  with  Monsieur  de 
Wynne?" 

He  stopped,  bit  his  lip  a  moment,  then  turned 
to  Ferrers  once  more.  "I  entreat  you  to  listen 
to  me.  I  have  told  you  that  I  was  the  Vicomte 
de  Bresac.  No,  it  is  no  jest.  I  am  Rene 
d'Anasco.  Eh  bien.  One  day  I  shall  prove  it. 
What  I  ask  is  only  to  save  a  little  time. ' ' 

He  moved  nearer  to  the  Englishman,  until  he 
could  have  touched  him  with  his  outstretched 
arm. 

96 


THE  ESCAPE 


"Listen,  monsieur.  If  you  will  but  give  me 
the  papers — " 

There  was  a  motion — if  ever  so  slight — of  the 
fingers  of  Ferrers  Js  right  hand.  Only  Mornay 
saw  it.  But  it  was  enough.  He  sprang  forward 
upon  the  man,  and  Ferrers 's  whistle  never 
reached  his  lips.  In  his  wish  to  give  the  alarm 
he  did  not  attempt  to  draw  his  fire-arm  until 
Mornay 's  hands  and  arms  had  pinioned  him 
like  a  vise.  All  the  fury  of  a  life  of  longing  was 
in  that  grasp.  It  seemed  as  though  the  years  of 
sweat  and  privation  had  wrought  upon  his  will 
and  energy  for  this  particular  moment.  He 
bore  the  Englishman  back  until  his  head  struck 
the  wall,  and  they  came  to  the  floor  together. 
At  the  first  sign  of  trouble,  Wynne  had  started 
for  the  door,  but  Cornbury  was  there  ahead  of 
him.  Not  until  then  had  there  been  a  word 
spoken,  a  cry  uttered;  but  now,  almost  at  the 
same  instant  that  Mornay  and  Ferrers  crashed 
to  the  floor,  Wynne  set  up  a  loud  cry,  which  re- 
sounded down  the  corridor  and  stairs.  In  a 
moment  there  was  a  sound  of  tumbling  furni- 
ture, and  the  cries  of  men  seemed  to  come  from 

97 


THE  LOVE  OF  MONSIEUR 

every  part  of  the  building.  But  Vigot  and  hia 
two  fellows  from  above  were  first  upon  the 
landing,  and  set  so  vigorously  upon  the  men 
mounting  the  stairs  that  their  ascent  was  halted 
and  they  were  thrown  back  in  confusion. 

In  the  meanwhile  the  struggle  between  Mor- 
nay  and  Ferrers  continued.  The  Englishman 
had  found  his  voice,  and  between  his  cries  and 
curses  and  the  clashing  of  the  steel  of  Cornbury 
and  Wynne  the  room  was  now  a  very  bedlam  of 
sound.  Either  the  blow  of  his  head  at  the  wall 
or  the  sudden  fury  of  Mornay's  assault  had 
given  the  Frenchman  the  advantage,  for  Ferrers 
lay  prone  upon  the  floor,  and,  though  he  shouted 
and  struggled,  both  of  his  wrists  were  held  help- 
less in  one  of  Mornay's  sinewy  hands. 

Suddenly  Monsieur  Mornay  sprang  away 
from  the  Englishman  and  to  his  feet,  waving  in 
his  hands  a  packet  of  papers.  He  rushed  past 
Cornbury  and  Wynne  to  the  table,  his  eyes 
gleaming  with  excitement.  With  a  fascination 
which  made  him  oblivious  to  everything  but  his 
one  overmastering  passion,  he  tore  the  cover 
from  the  packet  and  examined  the  papers  in  the 

98 


THE  ESCAPE 


glare  of  the  candles.  In  one  of  them  he  saw  the 
name  D  'Anasco.  It  was  enough. 

None  but  a  desperate  man  would  have  done  so 
foolhardy  a  thing  at  such  a  time.  Captain 
Ferrers  was  not  slow  to  take  advantage  of  his 
opportunity.  He  struggled  painfully  .to  his 
knee,  and,  drawing  his  pistol,  took  a  careful  aim 
and  fired  at  the  Frenchman.  Mornay 's  wig 
twitched  and  fell  off  among  the  candles.  He 
staggered  forward  and  dropped  like  a  drunken 
man,  his  elbows  on  the  table.  Ferrers  reached 
his  feet,  and,  drawing  his  sword,  made  for  the 
door.  But  Mornay  was  only  stunned. 

' '  Vigot !  Vigot ! "  he  shouted,  rising.  ' '  Prenez 
garde,  Vigot!" 

But  before  Vigot  could  turn,  Captain  Ferrers 
had  rushed  out  and  thrust  the  unfortunate 
servant  through  the  back.  As  Mornay  saw 
Vigot  go  down  he  sprang  after  the  Englishman 
into  the  corridor.  Ferrers  had  set  upon  one  of 
the  fellows  in  the  passageway  at  the  same  time 
that  another  and  more  determined  attack  was 
made  from  below.  For  a  moment  it  seemed  as 
though  the  constables  had  gained  the  landing. 

99 


THE  LOVE  OF  MONSIEUR 

They  would  have  done  so  had  not  Mornay,  with 
an  incomparable  swiftness,  engaged  Ferrers 
and  driven  him  step  by  step  to  the  stairs,  where 
at  last  he  fell  back  and  down  into  the  arms  of 
the  men  below.  At  this  moment  Cornbury,  hav- 
ing disabled  Wynne,  came  running  to  Mornay 's 
assistance  with  two  heavy  benches,  which  were 
thrown  down  the  stairs  into  the  thick  of  the  men 
below,  so  that  they  fell  back,  groaning  and 
bruised,  to  the  foot  of  the  stairway.  Then, 
without  the  pause  of  a  moment,  Mornay  dashed 
out  the  lights,  and,  carrying  Vigot,  ordered  a 
retreat  up  the  second  flight  of  steps. 

Vigot  had  a  mortal  wound  and  was  even  then 
at  the  point  of  death. 

" Monsieur,"  he  said,  faintly,  "c'est  fini! 
Laissez-moi ! " 

There  were  some  heavy  chests  of  drawers  in 
the  corridor  above,  and  Mornay  directed  that 
these  be  piled  for  a  barricade.  The  stairway 
was  here  very  narrow  and  but  one  man  could 
come  up  at  a  time.  So  two  chests  were  bal- 
anced on  the  incline  of  the  stairs  and  two  more 
were  ready  at  the  top  to  replace  the  others. 

100 


THE  ESCAPE 


When  this  was  done,  Mornay  sent  Quinn  and 
Trice  up  to  the  next  floor  to  gain  the  roof  and 
find  a  way  to  the  street. 

When  they  were  gone,  Mornay  leaned  over 
the  dying  man  upon  the  floor. 

1 1  My  poor  Vigot, ' '  he  said. 

"Laissez-moi,  monsieur,"  whispered  Vigot. 
"C'est  fini.  They  cannot  hurt  me.  Over  the 
roof  a  window  is  open  into  the  garret  of  the 
mercer 's.  Go,  but  quickly,  monsieur — quickly. ' ' 

Mornay  tried  to  lift  him,  but  a  deep  groan 
broke  from  his  breast. 

1 l  Non,  monsieur,  non. ' ' 

Mornay  and  Cornbury  lifted  him,  and,  placing 
him  on  a  bed  in  one  of  the  rooms,  quietly  closed 
the  door. 

By  this  time  the  men  below  had  reached  the 
landing.  Mornay  had  one  advantage.  While 
the  movements  of  the  figures  below  were  plainly 
to  be  seen,  there  was  no  light  above,  and  the 
Frenchman  knew  that  the  constables  could  not 
tell  whether  his  party  were  one  or  six.  It  was 
plain  that  they  did  not  relish  an  attack  on  the 
dark  stairway.  If  they  had  not  been  able  to  gain 

101 


THE  LOVE  OF  MONSIEUR 

the  landing  below,  how  could  they  expect  to  fare 
better  here  ?  They  caught  a  glimpse  of  the  dim 
outline  of  the  chests  of  the  barricade,  but  be- 
yond that  all  was  black  and  forbidding. 

Mornay  and  Cornbury  only  waited  long 
enough  to  give  the  fellows  above  a  chance  to 
get  over  the  roof,  when  they,  too,  quickly  fol- 
lowed. As  they  crawled  out  of  the  window  they 
heard  the  voice  of  Ferrers  cursing  the  men  for 
laggards,  and  at  last  a  clatter  of  feet  and  the 
fall  of  one  of  the  chests  down  the  stairs. 

They  made  their  way  stealthily  but  quickly 
across  the  leads  to  the  dormer-window  of  the 
mercer's  shop,  where  they  saw  Trice  beckoning. 
With  a  last  backward  glance  they  stole  into  the 
room.  Its  inmate  was  sitting  upright  in  bed. 
Quinn  was  binding  and  gagging  him  with  a  ker- 
chief and  a  sheet.  They  shut  the  window  and 
took  the  key  from  the  door,  and  passing  into 
the  hallway,  locked  their  man  in  his  room.  It 
was  none  too  soon,  for  a  sound  of  shouts  above 
announced  that  their  escape  was  discovered. 
Upon  this  Cornbury  threw  discretion  to  the 
winds,  and  with  drawn  sword  went  down  the 

102 


THE  ESCAPE 


stairs  three  steps  at  a  time.  The  rickety  stairs 
swayed  and  groaned  under  this  noisy  invasion, 
doors  opened,  and  nightcapped  heads  with 
frightened  faces  peered  from  narrow  doorways. 
There  was  a  lantern  burning  in  a  sconce  upon 
the  wall.  This  Mornay  seized  as  he  passed. 
At  the  head  of  the  first  flight  the  mercer  came 
out.  But  Cornbury  stuck  him  in  the  leg  with 
the  point  of  his  sword,  and,  seizing  him  by  the 
back  of  the  neck,  pushed  and  dragged  him  down, 
the  stairs. 

' '  The  way  out,  ye  vermin ! "  he  said.  l '  Quick ! 
No.  Not  the  front — the  back  door. " 

The  man  was  sallow  with  terror. 

* '  The  b-back  door  t "  he  chattered.  ' '  There  is 
no  back  door. ' ' 

"A  window,  then,"  jerked  out  Cornbury. 
"Quick!"  There  was  a  warning  prod  of  the 
sword.  The  man  cried  out,  but  staggered 
through  the  mercer 's  shop  into  a  passage.  Mor- 
nay and  Cornbury  thrust  ahead  of  him. 

"Which  waj^f"  they  cried,  in  unison. 

He  indicated  a  window.  When  it  was  opened 
they  saw  it  was  not  six  feet  from  the  ground. 

103 


THE  LOVE  OF  MONSIEUR 

By  this  time  the  whole  neighborhood  was 
aroused,  and  cries  and  shouts  resounded  in  all 
quarters.  Mornay  had  put  the  light  out,  and, 
pausing  not  a  moment,  stepped  over  the  sill  and 
let  himself  down  into  a  kind  of  roofed  alley  or 
court  which  ran  between  the  rear  portions  of  the 
buildings.  While  Mornay  covered  the  landlord 
to  keep  him  silent,  Cornbury  and  the  others 
quickly  followed.  Without  waiting  a  moment, 
the  four  men  gathered  themselves  into  a  com- 
pact body  and  dashed  down  the  alley  as  fast 
as  they  could  run.  It  was  a  case  now  for  speed 
and  stout  blows.  There  was  a  turn  in  the  alley 
before  it  reached  the  street.  It  was  on  rounding 
this  that  thejr  came  full  into  the  midst  of  a  party 
of  men  who  were  running  in  to  meet  them.  The 
surprise  was  mutual.  All  the  commotion  had 
been  on  the  roof  and  in  the  main  street,  and 
there  was  so  much  noise  that  the  constables 
had  not  even  heard  the  footfalls  around  the 
corner.  But  Mornay 's  men  had  the  advantage 
of  being  on  the  offensive.  There  was  a  hurried 
discharge  of  firearms,  and  a  shout  broke  from 
Bill  Quinn,  but  he  kept  on  running.  Cornbury 

104 


THE  ESCAPE 


fired  his  pistol  at  one  man  and  then  threw  the 
weapon  full  at  another  who  cut  at  him  with  a 
pike.  In  a  moment  they  were  through  and  in 
the  street.  A  scattering  of  shots  sent  the  dust 
and  stones  flying  from  a  wall  beside  them,  but 
the  moon  was  gone  and  aim  was  uncertain.  The 
shouting  had  increased  and  the  sound  of  foot- 
falls was  just  behind. 

' '  Which  way  ? ' '  said  Mornay. 

" Straight  ahead,"  replied  Cornbury.  "To 
the  river  afterwards.  Our  chances  with  a  boat 
are  best. ' ' 

They  turned  into  a  dark  street,  and  Trice,, 
who  was  slender  and  nimble-footed,  led  the  way 
into  the  darkness  with  the  speed  of  a  deer.  He 
wound  in  and  out  of  alleys  and  narrow  streets 
where  the  shadows  were  deeper,  closely  followed 
by  Mornay  and  Cornbury.  The  pace  was  so 
rapid  that  Quinn  was  nearly  spent.  Seeing  that 
if  he  were  not  heartened  he  would  be  taken,  Mor- 
nay slackened  and  came  back  beside  him.  As 
he  glanced  around  he  saw  that  two  men  were 
approaching  rapidly  not  a  hundred  yards 
away. 

105 


THE  LOFE  OF  MONSIEUR 

"There's  nothing  for  it,"  panted  Cornbury. 
"If  I  had  a  pistol  I  could  wing  the  man  in 
front. ' J  Mornay  drew  his  own  from  his  pocket 
and  handed  it  to  him.  Cornbury  leaned  against 
a  wall  and  carefully  fired.  With  a  shout  the 
man  clapped  his  hand  to  his  leg.  He  hobbled  a 
few  paces,  and  then  fell  head  over  heels  into  the 
gutter.  With  singular  discretion  the  other  man 
slackened  his  speed  and  stopped  to  await  his 
fellows,  who  were  coming  up  in  a  body  not  far 
behind. 

Tom  Trice  had  disappeared,  but  the  river  was 
not  far  distant.  Cornbury  saw  the  shimmer  of 
it  and  said  so  to  poor  Quinn.  This  plucked  up 
his  courage,  and  with  a  hand  at  either  arm  he 
managed  to  make  so  good  a  progress  that  they 
had  crossed  the  wide  docks  and  tumbled  into  a 
boat  before  the  first  of  their  pursuers  had 
emerged  from  the  darkness.  Quinn  fell  like  a 
gasping  fish  under  the  thwarts,  but  Cornbury 
and  Mornay  pulled  at  the  oars  with  such  vigor 
that  before  a  single  black  figure  appeared  upon 
the  coping  of  the  dock  they  had  put  fifty  feet  of 
water  between  themselves  and  the  shore.  There 

106 


THE  ESCAPE 


was  a  splash  of  light — and  another — and  the 
bullets  spat  viciously  around  them.  But  they 
kept  on  pulling,  and  made  the  lee  of  a  barge  not 
far  away  in  safety.  When  they  heard  the  con- 
stables clatter  down  into  one  of  the  boats,  they 
took  off  their  doublets  and  pulled  for  their  lives. 
The  tide  was  running  out,  and  they  shot  the 
bridge  like  an  arrow,  but  they  could  see  the 
black  mass  of  the  boat  of  their  pursuers  as  it 
stole,  like  some  huge  black  bug,  from  the  inky 
reflection  into  the  gray  of  the  open  water. 
There  was  a  patch  of  light  under  the  bows,  and 
the  frequent  glimmer  of  the  wind-swept  sky 
upon  the  oars  was  far  too  rapid  and  steady  for 
their  comfort.  A  fellow  stood  up  in  the  stern, 
giving  the  word  for  the  oarsmen,  and,  hard  as 
the  fugitives  pulled,  the  boat  gained  steadily 
upon  them.  Bill  Quinn  was  useless,  and,  even 
had  he  been  able  to  row,  there  were  only  two 
pairs  of  oars.  So  they  set  him  to  loading  the 
pistols,  while  they  cast  their  eyes  over  their 
shoulders  in  search  of  a  place  of  refuge.  They 
knew  if  they  made  immediately  for  the  shore 
they  would  fall  too  probably  into  the  hands  of 

107 


THE  LOVE  OF  MONSIEUR 

the  watch,  for  the  streets  here  were  wider  and 
there  were  fewer  places  for  concealment  than 
in  the  thickly  settled  part  of  the  city  which  they 
had  left.  Their  course  was  set  directly  across 
the  bows  of  a  large  vessel  getting  under  way. 
The  anchor  had  clanked  up  to  the  bows,  and 
there  was  a  creak  of  halyard  and  sheet-block  as 
her  canvases  took  the  wind,  a  clamor  of  hoarse 
orders  mingled  with  oaths  and  the  sound  of 
maudlin  singing.  But  the  boat  of  the  constables 
was  every  moment  splashing  nearer  and  nearer, 
and  Mornay,  seeing  escape  by  this  means  im- 
possible, determined  to  lay  aboard  the  ship  and 
take  his  chances.  Accordingly  they  stopped 
rowing  and  waited  until  the  vessel  should  gather 
way  enough  to  come  up  with  them.  When  the 
black  boat-load  of  men  saw  this  they  gave  a 
cheer,  for  they  thought  themselves  certain  of 
their  game.  For  answer  there  was  a  volley  from 
three  pistols,  which  sent  one  man  into  the  bot- 
tom of  the  boat,  so  that  the  oars  upon  one  side 
caught  so  badly  in  the  water  that  the  boat  slewed 
around  from  her  course  and  lost  her  way  in 
the  water. 

108 


THE  ESCAPE 


At  the  sound  of  the  shots  a  dozen  heads  ap- 
peared in  the  bows  of  the  ship,  which  was  com- 
ing up  rapidly. 

"What  ho,  there!"  yelled  a  heavy  voice. 
* '  Out  o '  the  way,  or  I  '11  run  ye  down ! ' ' 

Cornbury  and  Quinn  arose  to  their  feet,  but 
Mornay  sat  at  his  oars,  keeping  the  boat  broad- 
side to  the  approaching  vessel. 

"Jump  before  she  strikes,  man — the  fore- 
chains  and  spritsail-rigging. ' ' 

The  huge  fabric  loomed  like  a  pall  upon  the 
sky,  and  they  could  see  two  long  lines  of  foam 
springing  away  from  the  forefoot,  which  was 
coming  nearer — nearer. 

"Look  alive  there!"  shouted  the  gruff  voice 
again. 

There  was  a  grinding  crash  as  Cornbury  and 
Quinn  sprang  for  the  rigging.  Quinn  struck 
his  head  upon  a  steel  stay,  and  had  not  the 
strength  to  haul  himself  clear  of  the  water. 
With  a  cry  he  fell  back  into  the  submerged  boat. 
Mornay  waited  a  moment  too  long,  and  the 
vessel  struck  him  fairly  in  the  body.  He,  too, 
fell  back  into  the  water^  but  as  he  was  tossed 

109 


THE  LOVE  OF  MONSIEUR 

aside  he  fell  as  by  a  miracle  into  the  friendly 
arms  of  the  anchor,  which,  not  having  been 
hauled  clear,  dragged  just  at  the  surface  of  the 
water.  With  an  effort  he  pulled  himself  up,  and 
at  last  climbed  upon  the  stock,  and  so  to  the 
deck  unharmed. 

A  cluster  of  dark  faces  surrounded  him,  and 
a  short,  broad  man,  with  a  black  beard  and  rings 
in  his  ears,  thrust  his  way  through.  He  looked 
at  the  shivering  and  dripping  figures  before  him 
with  a  laugh. 

"Soho!  Soho!  Just  in  the  very  nick  of  the 
hoccasion,  my  bullies.  'Ere  be  three  beauties. 
Ha !  ha !  Jail-birds  at  a  guinea  a  'ead ! ' ' 

There  was  a  sound  of  cries  and  the  clatter  of 
oars ;  but  the  vessel  was  moving  rapidly  through 
the  water,  and  the  constables  were  rapidly  left 
astern. 

"In  the  King's  name,"  shouted  the  voice  of 
Captain  Ferrers,  "let  me  aboard!" 

The  man  with  the  black  beard  ran  aft  and 
leaned  over  the  rail  towards  the  boat  which  was 
struggling  in  the  water. 

110 


THE  ESCAPE 


"An'  who  might  you  be  I"  he  roared. 

"I  represent  the  law,"  cried  Ferrers,  and  his 
voice  seemed  dimmer  in  the  distance.  "These 
men  are  officers  of  the  King,  to  arrest — "  The 
remainder  of  the  sentence  was  caught  in  the 
winds  and  blown  away. 

The  black-bearded  man  slapped  his  leg.  ' '  The 
law!  The  law!"  he  shouted.  Then  he  made 
a  trumpet  of  his  hands  to  make  his  meaning 
clear,  and  roared,  "  Go  to  'ell ! "  He  clapped  his 
hand  to  his  thigh  and  laughed  immoderately. 

Monsieur  Mornay,  who  had  been  looking  aft 
over  the  bulwarks,  saw  the  figure  of  Ferrers 
stand  up  in  the  stern-sheets  and  shake  his  fist 
at  the  vessel.  Then  the  boat  pulled  around  to 
the  half -sunken  craft  which  the  fugitives  had 
abandoned.  All  in  dark  shadow  they  saw  Quinn 
pulled  out  of  the  water  by  the  constables,  and 
then  the  figures  leaned  over  again  and  lifted 
something  out  of  the  water  and  passed  it  to  the 
figure  in  the  stern. 

The  Frenchman  took  Cornbury  wildly  by  the 
arm. 

Ill 


THE  LOVE  OF  MONSIEUR 

''God  God!"  he  cried.  "My  doublet!  The 
papers  were  in  my  doublet!"  He  put  a  hand 
upon  the  rail  and  would  have  jumped  into  the 
water  if  Cornbury  had  not  seized  him  and  held 
him  until  the  fit  was  past. 


CHAPTER  VH 
BARBARA 

A'TER  Monsieur  Mornay's  coach  had  rum- 
bled away,  Mistress  Barbara  excused 
herself  to  Captain  Ferrers  and  threw  herself 
upon  her  couch  in  poignant  distress  and 
indecision.  Why  she  had  hated  this  Monsieur 
Mornay  so  she  could  not  for  her  life  have  told 
herself.  Perhaps  it  was  that  she  had  begun  by 
hating  him.  But  now,  when  he  had  killed  her 
friend  and  counsellor  and  had  used  violent 
means  to  approach  and  coerce  her — now  when 
she  had  every  right  and  reason  for  hating  him, 
she  made  the  sudden  discovery  that  she  did  not. 
The  shock  of  it  came  over  her  like  the  sight  of 
her  disordered  countenance  in  the  mirror.  The 
instinct  and  habit  of  defense,  amplified  by  a 
nameless  apprehension  in  the  presence  of  the 
man,  had  excited  her  imagination  so  that  she 
had  been  willing  to  believe  anything  of  him  in 

113 


THE  LOVE  OF  MONSIEUR 

order  to  justify  her  conscience  for  her  cruelty. 
But  now  that  he  was  gone — in  all  probability  to 
the  gallows — and  she  was  no  longer  harassed  by 
the  thought  of  his  presence,  she  underwent  a 
strange  revulsion  of  feeling.  She  knew  it  was 
not  pity  she  felt  for  him.  It  would  be  hard,  she 
thought,  to  speak  of  pity  and  Monsieur  Mornay 
in  the  same  breath.  It  was  something  else — 
something  that  put  her  pride  at  odds  with  her 
conscience,  her  mind  at  odds  with  her  heart. 
She  lay  upon  the  couch  dry-eyed,  clasping  and 
unclasping  her  hands.  What  was  he  to  her  that 
she  should  give  him  the  high  dignity  of  a 
thought  ?  "Why  should  the  coming  or  the  going 
of  such  a  man  as  he — scapegrace,  gambler,  duel- 
ist, and  now  fugitive  from  justice — make  the 
difference  of  a  jot  to  a  woman  who  had  the 
proudest  in  England  at  her  feet  ?  Fugitive  from 
justice !  Ah,  God !  Why  were  men  such  fools  ? 
Here  was  a  brave  man,  scapegrace  and  gambler 
if  you  like,  but  gallant  sailor,  soldier,  and 
chevalier  of  France,  a  favorite  of  fortune,  who, 
through  that  law  of  nature  by  which  men  rise  or 
sink  to  their  own  level,  had  achieved  a  position 

114 


BARBARA 

in.  which  he  consorted  with  kings,  dukes,  and 
princes  of  the  realm,  and  boasted  of  a  king  for 
an  intimate.  In  a  moment  he  had  rendered  at 
naught  the  struggles  of  years — had  tossed  aside, 
as  one  would  discard  a  worn-out  hat  or  glove, 
all  chances  of  future  preferment  in  France  and 
England — all  for  a  foolish  whim,  for  a  pair  of 
silly  gray  eyes.  She  hid  her  face  in  her  arms. 
Fools !  all  fools ! 

She  hated  herself  that  she  did  not  hate  Mon- 
sieur Mornay.  Struggle  as  she  would,  now  that 
he  was  gone  she  knew  that  the  impulsive  words 
that  she  had  used  when  she  had  spurned  him  had 
sprung  from  no  origin  of  thought  or  reflection, 
but  were  the  rebellious  utterings  of  anger  at  his 
intrusion — of  resentment  and  uncharity  at  the 
tale  he  told.  But  what  if  it  were  true  t  She  sat 
upright,  and  with  a  struggle  tried  dispassion- 
ately and  calmly  to  go  over,  one  by  one,  each 
word  of  his  speech,  each  incident  of  his  bearing, 
as  he  told  his  portentous  story  of  the  secrets  of 
her  family.  How  had  Monsieur  Mornay  come 
into  possession  of  all  this  information?  She 
knew  that  Eloise  de  Bresac  had  died  in  France 

115 


THE  LOVE  OF  MONSIEUR 

and  that  the  Duke  of  Nemours  had  sent  the  body 
to  be  buried  on  the  estates  in  Normandy,  where 
it  lay  in  the  family  tomb.  She  knew  that  Sir 
Henry  Heywood's  intimacy  with  the  Duke  was 
of  long  standing,  and  that  there  was  a  mystery 
in  regard  to  the  death  of  this  daughter  of  the 
house  which  had  never  been  explained  to  her. 
Her  grandfather  had  been  ill  at  the  time,  she 
remembered,  and  had  died  before  Sir  Henry 
Heywood  and  her  father — who  had  gone  to 
France — had  returned.  The  story  of  the 
Frenchman  tallied  strangely  with  the  facts  as 
she  knew  them.  How  did  Mornay  know  of  the 
unfortunate  woman's  death  at  Amiens?  Was 
the  story  of  the  Spaniard  D  'Anasco  invented  to 
comport  with  the  family's  traditionary  hatred 
of  the  Spanish?  Were  the  names  Castillano,  of 
the  ship,  and  Ruiz,  of  the  boy,  mere  fabrica- 
tions, to  achieve  an  end?  How  did  he  know 
these  things?  The  family  history  of  the  Bre- 
sacs  was  not  an  open  book  to  all  the  world.  No 
one  but  Sir  Henry  Heywood  and  herself  had 
known  of  the  visits  to  Paris  and  the  death-place 
of  Eloise. 

116 


BARBARA 

And  Captain  Ferrers !  How  could  she  explain 
his  loss  of  countenance  when  the  tale  was  told? 
What  papers  were  these  the  very  mention  of 
which  could  deprive  him  of  his  self-possession? 
And  what  reason  had  he  for  keeping  papers  re- 
ferring to  her  estate  from  her  knowledge  ?  They 
were  matters  which  put  her  mind  upon  a  rack  of 
indecision.  She  should  know,  and  at  once.  The 
Frenchman  had  planned  well.  He  had  proved 
that  Captain  Ferrers  was  concealing  something 
from  her — of  this  she  was  confident ;  although  in 
her  discovery  she  had  scorned  to  show  Mornay 
that  she  believed  him  in  anything.  If  Sir  Henry 
Heywood  had  intrusted  matters  pertaining  to 
the  estate  to  Captain  Ferrers,  she  was  resolved 
that  she  should  know  what  they  were.  She 
judged  from  his  actions  that  Captain  Ferrers 
had  reasons  for  wishing  these  papers  kept  from 
her;  she  therefore  resolved  to  learn  what  they 
contained.  If  he  would  not  give  them  to  her — 
and  this  she  thought  possible — she  would  meet 
him  in  a  different  spirit  and  try  with  art  and 
diplomacy  what  she  might  not  accomplish  by 
straightforward  methods. 

117 


"What  if  Mornay 's  tale  were  true?"  she 
asked  herself  again.  "What  if  these  papers 
were  the  secret  proofs  of  the  marriage  of  Eloise 
de  Bresac  and  of  the  birth  of  a  son  and  heir  to 
the  estates  in  accordance  with  her  grandfather 's 
will?  WTiat  if  Monsieur  Mornay  could  prove 
that  he  was  Kuiz,  son  of  D'Anasco,  and  had 
sailed  from  Valencia  upon  the  Castillano?"  In 
the  cool  light  of  her  reasoning  it  did  not  seem 
impossible.  She  recalled  the  face  of  Monsieur 
Mornay  and  read  him  again  to  herself.  It 
seemed  as  though  every  expression  and  modula- 
tion of  his  voice  had  been  burned  upon  her 
memory.  Had  he  flinched — had  he  quivered  an 
eyelash?  Had  he  not  borne  the  face  and  figure 
of  an  honest  man?  Argue  with  herself  as  she 
might,  she  had  only  to  compare  the  bearing  of 
the  Frenchman  with  that  of  Stephen  Ferrers 
for  an  answer  to  her  questions. 

She  arose  and  walked  to  the  table  by  the  win- 
dow. The  sun  was  setting  in  an  effusion  of 
red,  picking  out  the  chimney-pots  and  gables 
opposite  in  crimson  splendor,  glorifying  the 
somber  things  it  touched  in  magnificent  detail. 

118 


BARBARA 

She  looked  long — until  the  top  of  the  very 
highest  chimney-pots  became  again  a  somber 
blur  against  the  greenish  glow  of  the  east. 

"I  shall  know,"  she  murmured  at  last.  "At 
whatever  cost,  Captain  Ferrers  shall  tell  me." 

And  before  the  captain  arrived  the  next  day 
she  had  resolved  upon  a  plan  of  action.  In  jus- 
tice to  Monsieur  Mornay,  she  would  give  his 
tale  the  most  exhaustive  test.  For  the  sake  of 
the  experiment  she  would  assume  that  it  was 
true.  But  if  it  were,  and  she  believed  it,  the 
difficulty  lay  in  getting  Captain  Ferrers  to  ac- 
knowledge anything.  She  must  deceive  him.  If 
her  deception  did  not  avail,  she  would  try  some- 
thing else ;  but  of  one  thing  she  was  resolved — 
that  tell  he  should,  or  all  the  friendship  she  bore 
him  should  cease  forever. 

Captain  Ferrers  wore  a  jubilant  look  as  he 
came  in  the  door. 

"My  service,  Barbara.  You  are  better,  I 
hope." 

She  smiled.    "Well?" 

"He's  gone.  Escaped  us  last  night  and  got 
119 


THE  LOVE  OF  MONSIEUR 

to  ship  in  the  river.    By  this  time  he  is  well  into 
the  Channel. ' ' 

Mistress  Barbara  frowned  perceptibly. 

"You  have  allowed  him  to  get  away?"  she 
asked,  her  eyebrows  upraised. 

"Yes,"  he  muttered;  "a  very  demon  pos- 
sesses the  man.  If  I  had  my  way  the  fellow 
should  never  have  left  this  room. ' ' 

She  motioned  to  a  seat  beside  her. 

* '  Tell  me  about  it, ' '  she  said. 

He  sat  and  told  her  such  of  the  happenings 
at  the  Fleece  Tavern  as  he  thought  well  for  her 
to  hear,  but  he  omitted  to  mention  the  rape  of 
the  papers  from  his  pockets.  Of  this  attack 
he  said: 

"After  all,  the  fellow  is  but  a  common  blus- 
terer and  bully.  He  waited  for  his  chance  and 
then  set  upon  me  like  a  fish-monger." 

Her  eyes  sparkled.    '  *  And  you  ? ' '  she  asked. 

"He  had  me  off  my  guard,  but  as  he  broke 
away  from  me  I  shot  at  him" — he  paused  for  a 
word — ' '  as  I  would  at  a  common  thief. ' ' 

1 '  And  you  did  not  kiU  him  f ' '  The  words  fell 
cold  and  impassive  from  her  lips. 

120 


BARBARA 

He  looked  at  her  in  some  surprise.  She  had 
set  her  teeth,  and  her  hands  were  tightly  clasped 
upon  her  knees,  but  her  eyes  were  looking 
straight  before  her  and  gave  no  sign  of  any 
emotion. 

"Why,  Barbara,"  he  said,  "  'tis  truly  a 
mighty  hatred  you  have  for  the  fellow!  I 
thought  if  you  were  rid  of  him — " 

"I  despise  him!"  she  cried,  vehemently.  "I 
hate  him ! ' ' 

Captain  Ferrers  paused  a  moment,  and  the 
smile  that  crossed  his  lips  told  her  how  sweet 
her  words  sounded  in  his  ears. 

"Ever  since  he  has  been  in  London,"  she 
went  on,  coolly,  "he  has  crossed  my  path  at 
every  rout  and  levee.  Wherever  I'd  turn  I'd 
see  his  eyes  fixed  upon  me.  From  such  a  man 
it  was  an  insult.  His  attentions  were  odious." 
She  gave  a  hard,  dry  little  laugh.  "Why  could 
he  not  have  been  killed  then — before  he  told  me 
this  fine  tale  of  his  right  to  my  fortunes  and 
estates — " 

"But  surely  you  don't  believe—"  Ferrers 
broke  in. 

121 


THE  LOVE  OF  MONSIEUR 

"I  do  and  I  do  not,"  she  said,  carefully  con- 
sidering her  reply.  "It  is  a  plain  tale,  and  he 
tells  it  well,  whether  it  be  likely  or  unlikely." 

"Why,  Barbara,  'tis  a  palpable  lie !  Can  you 
not  see — " 

"I  can  and  I  cannot,"  she  said,  evenly.  Then 
she  turned  around,  so  that  she  looked  full  in  his 
eyes.  "I  care  not  whether  he  be  the  heir  or 
no — I  would  not  listen  to  his  pleadings  were  he 
my  cousin  thrice  over." 

Captain  Ferrers  laughed.     "I 

"  'Tis  plain  he  has  not  endeared  himself, 
mistress  mine";  and  then,  with  lowered  voice 
and  glance  full  of  meaning,  "Do  you  really 
mean  that  you  hate  him  sol" 

It  was  the  first  time  that  his  manner  had  given 
a  hint  of  a  secret.  She  turned  her  head  away 
and  looked  at  the  opposite  wall. 

"I  do,"  she  replied,  firmly.  "I  do  hate  him 
with  all  my  heart. ' ' 

Ferrers  leaned  towards  her  and  laid  his  hand 
upon  one  of  hers.  She  did  not  withdraw  it — 
her  fingers  even  moved  a  little  as  though  in  re- 
sponse to  his  touch. 

122 


BARBARA 

" Barbara,  this  man" — he  paused  to  look 
down  while  he  fingered  one  of  her  rings — "is 
an  impostor.  But  if  he  were  not,  would  you — 
would  you — still  wish  him  dead?" 

She  looked  around  at  him  in  surprise. 

"Why,  what — 'tis  a  strange  question.  Is 
there  a  chance  that  it  is  true — that  he  is  what 
he  says?" 

He  halted  at  this  abrupt  questioning  and  did 
not  meet  her  eye.  "No,  Barbara,  I  have  not 
said  so.  But  suppose  he  were  the  real  Vicomte 
de  Bresac,  would  you  still  wish  him  dead?" 

It  was  her  turn  to  be  discomfited.  She 
averted  her  head,  and  her  eyes  moved  restlessly 
from  one  object  upon  the  table  to  another. 

"Have  I  not  told  you  that  I  hate  him?"  she 
said ;  the  voice  was  almost  a  whisper.  Ferrers 
looked  at  her  as  though  he  would  read  the  in- 
most depths  of  her  heart.  She  met  his  eyes  a 
moment  and  then  smiled  with  a  little  bitter 
irony  that  had  a  touch  of  melancholy  in  it. 

"Can  I  find  it  pleasant  thinking,"  she  went 
on,  "that  the  houses,  the  lands,  the  people  who 

123 


THE  LOVE  OF  MONSIEUR 

owe  me  allegiance,  my  goods,  my  habits,  my  very 
life,  are  not  mine,  but  another's?" 

A  look  of  satisfaction  crossed  Captain  Fer- 
rers's  face.  He  relinquished  her  hand  and 
arose. 

"What  nonsense  is  this,  Barbara,  to  be  both- 
ering your  pretty  head  about  such  a  matter! 
Zounds,  dear  lady,  it  is  the  silliest  thing 
imaginable!" 

'  *  Nay, ' '  she  said,  with  a  gesture  of  annoyance 
and  a  woful  look  that  was  only  half  assumed — 
"nay,  it  is  no  nonsense  or  silliness.  Should 
Monsieur  Mornay  come  back,  my  quandary  be- 
comes as  grievous  as  ever. ' ' 

Ferrers  had  been  pacing  up  and  down,  his 
hands  behind  his  back.  * '  He  will  not  come  back. 
Besides,  what  could  he  prove?"  He  stopped 
before  her. 

She  did  not  answer,  but,  trembling,  waited  for 
him  to  continue. 

"Listen,  Barbara.  There  has  been  something 
I  have  had  in  my  mind  to  tell  you.  The  French- 
man Js  story  has  made  some  impression  upon 
you." 

124 


BARBARA 

She  looked  up  almost  plaintively.  "How 
could  it  fail?"  Then  she  went  on,  for  his  en- 
couragement: "It  would  make  no  difference 
to  me  whether  he  is  the  heir  or  no.  So  why 
should  it  make  a  difference  to  you?" 

"That  decides  me.  The  fellow  is  gone  for- 
ever. He  will  never  cross  your  path  again. 
You  think  your  quandary  is  grievous.  Even  if 
the  fellow  came  back,  what  could  he  prove? 
Nothing.  I  will  tell  you  why.  Because  the  only 
proofs  of  another  heir  to  the  estate  are  in  my 
possession." 

It  was  out  at  last.  The  thing  she  half  hoped 
yet  most  dreaded  to  hear  rang  in  her  ears.  She 
got  up,  making  no  effort  to  conceal  her  emotion, 
and,  walking  to  a  window,  leaned  heavily  upon 
the  back  of  a  chair. ' ' 

"The  proof — the  papers — are  in  your  pos- 
session ? ' '  And  then,  with  an  attempt  at  gayety 
which  rang  somewhat  discordantly,  "  'Tis 
fortunate  that  they  still  remain  in  the  hands 
of  my  friends." 

"I  have  been  through  fire  and  water  for  them, 
dear  Barbara,  and  will  go  again  if  need  be. 

125 


THE  LOVE  OF  MONSIEUR 

Last  Wednesday  night  these  papers  were  given 
me  in  sacred  trust  to  safely  keep  or  destroy.  It 
were  better  had  I  destroyed  them.  As  you 
know,  my  regiment  is  about  to  take  the  field.  I 
have  but  just  changed  my  lodgings,  and  had  no 
place  of  security  for  them.  So  since  then  I 
have  carried  them  upon  my  person,  until  I 
could  place  them  safely. ' '  And  then  he  told  her 
how  they  had  been  taken  from  him  by  Mornay, 
and  how  he  had  recovered  them,  to  his  surprise 
and  delight,  somewhat  moist  but  perfectly  legi- 
ble, from  the  doublet  in  the  boat  which  was  sunk 
by  the  vessel  in  the  river.  She  listened  to  him 
with  eyes  that  spoke  volumes  of  her  interest  and 
wonder.  When  that  was  done  she  asked  him 
more  of  the  secret.  And  he  told  her  how  her 
guardian  had  so  long  kept  it  from  her,  and  how 
Captain  Cornbury  had  carried  the  story  to  Mor- 
nay. He  broke  off  suddenly  and  went  over  to 
where  she  stood. 

"Barbara,  can  you  not  put  this  matter  from 
your  mind?  Will  you  ruin  our  day  with  this 
silly  business?  Have  you  no  word  for  me? 
Have  you  no  thought  for  me — no  answer  to  the 

126 


BARBARA 


question  that  is  forever  on  my  lips,  in  my  eyes 
and  heart?" 

She  looked  around  at  him,  her  clear  eyes  smil- 
ing up  with  an  expression  he  could  not  fathom. 
The  level  brows  were  calm  and  judicial — the 
eyes,  though  smiling,  were  cognizant  and 
searching. 

1 1  The  lips — yes,  Stephen, ' '  said  she,  in  a  tan- 
talizing way ;  ' '  the  eyes — a  little,  perhaps ;  but 
the  heart" — she  dropped  her  eyes  and  turned 
her  head  away — "the  heart  of  man  is  a 
mystery." 

But  Captain  Ferrers  was  undaunted.  He 
took  in  his  the  hand  that  hung  at  her  side. 

"Why,  Barbara,"  he  said,  "have  I  not  given 
you  all  my  devotion  ?  Can  you  not  learn — " 

She  drew  a  little  away  from  him. 

' '  I  am  but  a  dumb  scholar. ' ' 

"Then  do  not  add  deafness  to  your  failings. 
Listen  to  me.  I  have  asked  you  again  and  again 
the  same  question.  Answer  me  now,  Barbara. 
Promise  me  that  you  will — " 

She  had  turned  around  and  faced  hi™,  look- 
ing him  full  in  the  eyes. 

127 


"What  would  you  do  for  me  if  I  promised 
you  what  you  wish  ? ' ' 

"By  my  love!  anything — anything  in  my 
power  to  win,  anything  in  my  gift  to  bestow. ' ' 

She  smiled  gayly.  "Very  well,"  she  said,  "I 
shall  begin  at  once.  First,  I  shall  want  the 
papers  in  your  possession. ' ' 

His  face  clouded;  he  dropped  her  hand  and 
fell  back  a  pace  or  two. 

"The  proofs—" 

' '  The  very  same, ' '  she  said,  coolly. 

"My  trust!"  he  exclaimed.  "I  have  sworn 
to  keep  them  secret  or  destroy  them ! ' ' 

She  turned  away  pettishly. 

"So  much  for  your  love,  Captain  Ferrers. 
You  swear  to  give  me  anything.  The  first  favor 
I  ask,  you  refuse. ' ' 

"But  my  honor,  Barbara.  You  would  not 
have  me  break  oath  with  the  dead?" 

"Will  you  give  me  the  papers?"  she  asked 
again,  imperturbably.  He  looked  at  her  uncer- 
tainly. 

"And  if  I  do  not  give  them  to  you!" 
128 


BARBARA 

"Then  you  may  go."  She  pointed  imperi- 
ously to  the  door. 

"You  are  cruel.   And  if  I  do  give  them!" 

Her  face  lighted. 

"Ah.    If  you  give  them,  perhaps — " 

He  leaned  forward.    '  *  Well  ! ' ' 

"Perhaps — perhaps — you  may  have  an  an- 
swer. ' ' 

When  he  took  her  hand  again  she  gave  it  to 
him  unresistingly.  "  If  I  give  you  these  papers, 
will  you  promise  me — to  be  my  wife  ! ' ' 

She  had  attained  her  end  and  at  the  price 
she  had  expected  to  pay.  And  yet  she  hesitated. 
She  dropped  her  head  and  her  figure  seemed  to 
relax  and  grow  smaller  under  his  touch.  He 
leaned  over  her,  expectancy  and  delight  written 
upon  his  features. 

"Will  you  promise,  Barbara!"  he  repeated. 

She  straightened  her  head,  but  did  not  draw 
away  as  she  answered,  at  last : 

"I  will." 

He  put  his  hands  in  his  breast,  and,  drawing 
out  the  packet,  laid  it  before  her  upon  the  table. 

"There  is  my  honor,  Barbara.  Take  it.  I 
129 


THE  LOVE  OF  MONSIEUR 

give  it  to  you  willingly — as  I  give  you  my  life." 

She  took  the  packet  of  papers  and  looked  at 
the  blurred  writing  upon  the  outside.  Captain 
Ferrers  made  a  step  towards  her,  and,  taking 
her  hand  again,  would  have  drawn  her  towards 
him.  But  as  he  approached  and  she  felt  his 
breath  warm  upon  her  cheek,  a  change  came 
over  her  and  she  drew  back  and  away  from  him 
to  the  other  side  of  the  table. 

Captain  Ferrers  could  not  understand.  His 
brows  knit  angrily. 

*  *  How  now,  Barbara — ' '  he  began. 

"Not  to-day,  Stephen.  Not  to-day,  I  pray 
you. "  She  was  half  smiling,  half  crying.  *  *  Can 
you  not  see  I  am  overwrought  with  my  grief  and 
worries  ?  Leave  me  for  the  day.  I  will  requite 
you  better  another  time. ' ' 

She  fell  upon  the  couch  and  buried  her  face 
in  her  hands.  Captain  Ferrers  looked  at  her 
quizzically  for  a  moment,  but  the  smile  at  his 
lips  was  not  a  pleasant  one.  Then  he  tossed  his 
chin  and  walked  towards  the  door. 

"Very  well,  then!  Until  to-morrow."  He 
took  his  hat  and  was  gone. 

130 


BARBARA 

For  some  moments  Mistress  Barbara  lay 
there  as  one  stricken  and  unable  to  move.  But 
at  last,  with  a  struggle,  she  broke  the  seal  of 
the  packet  which  she  had  held  tightly  clutched 
in  her  hand.  Then,  while  the  sun  gilded  again 
the  chimney-pots  opposite  her,  one  by  one  she 
read  over  the  papers  before  her — the  attestation 
of  the  nurse,  Marie  Graillot,  and  the  witnesses, 
Anton  Gratz  and  Pierre  Dauvet ;  the  last  testa- 
ment of  Eloise  de  Bresac,  and  her  confession; 
the  statement  of  the  priest  who  had  confessed 
her,  and  the  description  of  the  child ;  all  sworn 
and  properly  subscribed  to  before  an  official 
of  the  parish  of  Saint-Jacques.  Then  there 
were  some  letters  from  Juan  d'Anasco,  clear 
proof  of  Henry  Heywood  and  Wilfred  Clerke  's 
complicity  in  the  plot.  The  tears  came  to  her 
eyes  and  made  even  dimmer  the  blur  of  the  ink 
in  the  faded  documents.  At  last  the  letters  be- 
came indistinct,  and  she  could  read  no  more. 

Far  into  the  night  she  lay  there.  Her  duenna 
would  have  entered,  but  she  sent  her  away. 
Servants  came  with  food,  but  she  refused  to  eat. 

131 


THE  LOVE  OF  MONSIEUR 

At  last,  when  the  reflection  from  the  passing 
links  no  longer  flashed  in  fiery  red  across  her 
ceiling,  and  the  sounds  of  the  street  were  no 
longer  loud  or  frequent,  she  arose,  and,  putting 
her  head  out  of  the  window,  looked  up  at  the 
quiet  stars.  The  cool  air  bathed  her  brow,  and 
the  tranquillity  and  all-pervading  equality  of 
peace  helped  her  to  her  resolution. 

The  next  day,  as  Captain  Stephen  Ferrers 
presented  himself  at  Mistress  Clerke's  lodgings, 
he  was  given  a  letter. 

This  is  the  cry  of  a  soul  that  suffers  [it  ran]. 
I  have  read  one  by  one  the  papers  you  have  given 
me,  and  from  them  an  iron  resolution  has  been  forged 
— forged  with  the  warmth  of  passion  and  tempered 
with  the  wet  of  tears.  Yesterday  I  was  your  prom- 
ised wife.  Unless  you  wish  to  be  released,  I  am  the 
same  to-day.  But  this  morning  every  estate  that  I 
possess,  every  revenue — all  my  fortune,  in  fact,  down 
to  the  last  penny — has  been  placed  under  the  Crown, 
where  it  will  remain  until  the  rightful  heir  of  the 
estates  of  De  Bresac  is  found.  Believe  me,  this  de- 
cision of  mine  is  irrevocable.  If  you  would  claim  me 
for  yourself  under  these  new  conditions,  I  shall  still 
be  the  same  to  you. 

BARBARA. 
132 


BARBARA 

Captain  Ferrers  left  the  house  in  some  haste. 
A  week  later  he  went  to  France  upon  a  commis- 
sion to  purchase  guns  for  the  Royal  Artillery. 
And  Mistress  Barbara  Clerke  sailed  as  duenna 
to  Senorita  de  Batteville,  the  daughter  of  the 
Spanish  Ambassador,  to  visit  the  senorita'a 
uncle,  who  was  governor  of  a  castle  at  Porto 
Bello,  upon  the  Spanish  Main. 


CHAPTER  VIII 
THE  SAUCY  SALLY 

MONSIEUR  MORNAY  and  his  compan- 
ions made  but  a  sorry  spectacle  upon  the 
decks  of  the  vessel  aboard  of  which  the  hand 
of  destiny  had  so  fortuitously  tumbled  them. 
The  Frenchman  had  lost  his  doublet,  hat,  and 
periwig,  the  blood  flowed  freely  from  a  wound 
in  his  head,  and  his  bowed  figure  was  slim  and 
lean  in  his  clinging  and  dripping  garments.  The 
Irishman  stood  near,  with  one  hand  upon  the 
Frenchman's  shoulder,  watching  him  narrowly, 
fearful  that  in  another  mad  moment  he  might 
throw  himself  overboard  after  his  lost  heritage. 
But  Monsieur  Mornay  made  no  move  to  struggle 
further.  He  stood  supine  and  subordinate  to 
his  fate.  The  light  of  battle  which  had  so  re- 
cently illumined  them  shone  in  his  eyes  no  more. 
And  the  head  which  by  the  grace  of  God  had 
been  raised  last  night  so  that  he  could  look  every 

134 


THE  SAUCY  SALLY 


man  level  in  the  eyes  was  now  sunk  into  his 
shoulders — not  in  humiliation  or  abasement,  but 
in  a  silent  acquiescence  to  the  whelming  sense 
of  defeat  that  was  his. 

Cornbury,  his  red  poll  glowing  a  dull  ember  in 
the  moonlight,  stood  by  the  side  of  his  friend, 
erect,  smiling — his  usual  inscrutable  self. 
Presently,  when  a  lantern  had  been  brought, 
the  man  with  the  black  beard  came  forward 
again  and  placed  himself,  arms  akimbo,  before 
the  bedraggled  figures  of  the  fugitives.  His 
voice  was  coarse  and  thick,  like  his  face  and 
body.  As  he  leaned  sideways  to  accommodate 
the  squint  of  one  eye  and  looked  at  them  in  high 
humor,  an  odor  of  garlic  and  brandy  proclaimed 
itself  so  generously  that  even  the  rising  breeze 
could  not  whip  it  away. 

"Soho!"  he  said  again.  "Soho!  soho!" 
while  he  swayed  drunkenly  from  one  foot  to 
the  other.  ''Queer  fishin'  even  for  the  Thames, 
mateys.  Soho !  If  there  be  luck  in  hodd  num- 
bers, then  'ere's  the  very  luck  o'  Danny  Mc- 
Graw,  for  of  all  the  hoddities —  Ho,  Bedhead, 
whither  was  ye  bound!  Newgate  or  Tyburn  or 

135 


THE  LOVE  OF  MONSIEUR 

the  Tower?  The  Tower?  Ye  aren't  got  much 
o '  the  hair  o '  prisoners  o '  state. ' ' 

Cornbury  looked  him  over  coolly,  and  then, 
with  a  laugh,  "Bedad,  my  dear  man,  we'd  had 
a  smell  of  all  three,  I  'm  thinking. ' ' 

By  this  time  half  the  crew  of  the  vessel  were 
gathered  in  a  leering  and  grinning  circle. 

"Pst!"  said  one;  "  'tis  the  Duke  o'  York  in 
dishguise. ' ' 

"The  Duke  o'  York,"  said  another.  "Ai! 
yi !  an '  the  little  one 's  the  Prince  o '  Wales. ' ' 

Blackboard  thrust  his  nose  under  that  of  the 
Irishman.  "Well,  Redhead,"  he  cried,  "wot's 
the  crime?  Murder  or  thieving  or  harson?" 
To  lend  force  to  his  query  he  clapped  his  hand 
down  upon  Cornbury 's  shoulder.  The  Irish- 
man's eyes  gleamed  and  his  hand  went  to  his 
side,  but  he  forgot  that  his  weapon  was  no 
longer  there.  He  shrugged  a  careless  shoulder 
and  drew  away  a  pace. 

"Whist ! "  he  said,  good-humor edly ; ' '  'tis  the 
King  I've  just  killed." 

"Yaw!  'Tis  the  red  of  the  blood-royal  upon 
136 


THE  SAUCY  SALLY 


his  head,"  said  the  drunkard,  amid  a  wild 
chorus  of  laughter. 

Here  a  tall  figure  thrust  through  the  grinning 
crowd,  which  gave  back  a  step  at  the  sound  of 
his  voice. 

"Nona  d'un  nom!"  he  cried.  "They  shiver 
with  the  cold.  A  drink  and  a  dip  in  the  slop- 
chest  is  more  to  the  point — eh,  captain?" 
Blackbeard  swayed  stupidly  again,  and,  with  a 
growl  that  might  have  meant  anything,  rolled 
aft  and  down  below.  The  tall  man  took  the 
lantern  and  led  the  way  into  the  forecastle, 
whither  the  fugitives  followed  him.  But  it  was 
not  until  they  got  within  the  glare  of  the  fore- 
castle lantern  that  they  discovered  what  manner 
of  man  it  was  to  whom  they  owed  this  benefac- 
tion. He  was  tall  and  thin,  and  his  long,  bony 
arms  hung  heavily  from  narrow  shoulders, 
which  seemed  hardly  stout  enough  to  sustain 
their  weight.  From  a  thick  thatch  of  tangled 
beard  and  hair,  a  long,  scrawny  neck  thrust  for- 
ward peeringly,  like  that  of  a  plucked  fowl ;  and 
at  the  end  of  it  a  smallish  head,  with  a  hooked 
nose,  black,  beady  eyes,  and  great,  projecting 

137 


THE  LOVE  OF  MONSIEUR 

ears  was  bonneted  in  a  tight-fitting  woolen  cap 
which  made  more  prominent  these  eccentrici- 
ties of  nature.  This  astonishing  figure  would 
have  seemed  emaciated  but  for  a  certain  decep- 
tive largeness  of  bone  and  sinew.  His  nether 
half  ended  in  a  pair  of  long  shanks  attired  in 
baggj  trousers  and  boots,  between  which  two 
bony  knees,  very  much  bowed,  were  visible.  By 
his  manner  he  might  have  been  English,  by  his 
language  French,  by  his  ugliness  anything  from 
a  pirate  to  an  evil  dream  of  the  Devil. 

Monsieur  Mornay  had  reached  the  forecastle 
in  a  kind  of  stupefaction,  and  it  was  not  until 
the  ugly  man  returned  from  below  with  some 
dry  clothing  and  a  bottle  of  brandy  that  he  came 
broadly  awake.  Then,  wet  and  shivering,  he 
threw  aside  his  shirt  and  drank  a  generous  tin- 
ful  of  grateful  liquor,  which  sent  a  glow  of 
warmth  to  the  very  marrow  of  his  chilled  bones. 
For  the  first  time  he  glanced  at  his  benefactor. 

"Mille  Dieux!"  he  cried,  in  joyful  surprise. 
"Jacquard!"  The  tall  man  bent  forward  till 
his  neck  seemed  to  start  from  its  fastenings. 

" By  the  Devil's  Pot!  why,  what— wh— ?  It 
138 


THE  SAUCY  SALLY 


cannot  be — Monsieur  le  Chevalier !  Is  it  yout " 
In  his  surprise  he  dropped  the  bottle  from 
his  hand,  and  the  liquor  ran  a  dark  stream  upon 
the  deck;  but,  regardless,  he  made  two  strides 
to  Mornay  's  side,  and,  taking  him  by  the  shoul- 
ders, looked  him  eagerly  in  the  face.  "It  is! 
It  is !  Holy  Virgin,  Monsieur  le  Capitaine,  how 
came  you  here?" 

Cornbury  had  never  looked  upon  BO  ill-as- 
sorted a  pair,  but  watched  them  stand,  hand 
clasped  in  hand,  each  looking  into  the  face  of 
the  other. 

"A  small  world,  Jacquard!  How  came  you 
to  leave  Rochelle  ? '  * 

' '  Oh,  Monsieur, ' '  said  the  other,  wagging  his 
head,  ''times  are  not  what  they  have  been.    The 
sea  has  called  me  again.    My  flesh  dried  upon 
my  bones.    I  could  not  stay  longer  ashore.  And 
a  profitable  venture — a  profitable  venture — " 
1  *  Honest,  Jacquard !    Where  do  ye  go  T  " 
"  Monsieur,  the  Saucy  Sally  is  no  proper 
ship  for  you."    He  moved  his  head  with  a  cu- 
rious solemnity  from  side  to  side.    "No  place 
for  you — we  go  a  long  voyage,  monsieur, '  *  and 

139 


THE  LOVE  OF  MONSIEUR 

he  broke  off  abruptly.  "But  tell  me  how  came 
you  in  such  straits  as  these?"  Then  Monsieur 
Mornay  told  Jacquard  briefly  of  the  fight  in 
the  Fleece  Tavern  and  of  their  escape,  and  after 
this  Cornbury  learned  how  Jacquard  had  been 
the  Chevalier  Mornay 's  cockswain  upon  the 
Dieu  Merci  in  the  Marine  of  France.  But 
through  it  all  Jacquard  preserved  a  solemn  and 
puzzled  expression,  which  struggled  curiously 
with  his  look  of  delight  at  the  sight  of  Mornay. 
At  last,  unable  longer  to  contain  himself,  he 
glanced  steathily  around  to  where  the  men  were 
swinging  their  hammocks,  and  said,  in  a  kind 
of  shouting  whisper : 

"Monsieur,  you  cannot  stay  upon  the  Saucy 
Sally.  To-morrow,  before  we  leave  the  Channel, 
you  must  get  ashore. ' ' 

Mornay  looked  curiously  at  the  man.  "Why, 
Jacquard!  You,  too?  Your  Sally  is  none  so 
hospitable  a  lass,  after  all.  Upon  my  faith,  'tis 
too  bad  in  an  old  shipmate.  I  had  but  just 
coaxed  myself  into  a  desire  to  stay,  and — 
here — " 

Jacquard 's  face  was  a  study  in  perplexities. 
140 


THE  SAUCY  SALLY 


He  drew  the  fugitives  to  a  small  room,  or  closet. 
When  the  door  was  shut  he  sat  down,  his  mouth 
and  face  writhing  with  the  import  of  the  infor- 
mation he  could  not  bring  himself  to  convey. 

"Ods-life,  man,"  growled  Cornbury,  "have 
ye  the  twitches?  Speak  out!" 

"Monsieur  le  Chevalier,"  said  Jacquard,. 
' '  'tis  no  cruise  for  you.  We  go  to  the  Havana 
and  Maracaibo  and — "  He  hesitated  again. 

1 1  Out  with  it  before  ye  get  in  irons.  Ye  hang 
in  the  wind  like  a  fluttering  maid. ' ' 

"Well,  monsieur,  we  are  a  flibustier — no 
more,  no  less,"  he  growled.  "Voild,  you  have 
it.  I  had  hoped — " 

To  his  surprise,  Monsieur  Mornay  broke  into 
a  wild  laugh.  "You,  Jacquard — honest  Jac- 
quard— a  farbon,  a  pirato?" 

"Well,  not  just  that,  monsieur — a  flibusfier," 
he  said,  sulkily.  "There  is  a  difference.  Be- 
sides, the  times  were  bad.  I  went  to  the  Spanish 
Main — " 

"And  became  a  boucanier — " 

"Monsieur,  listen.  We  are  not  a  common 
pirato.  No,  monsieur.  This  ship  is  owned  by  a 

141 


THE  LOVE  OF  MONSIEUR 

person  high  in  authority,  and  Captain  Billee 
Winch  bears  a  warrant  from  the  King.  Under 
this  we  make  a  judicious  war  upon  the  ships  of 
Spain  and  none  other.  We  have  taken  their 
ships  in  honest  warfare,  with  much  mercy  and 
compassion. ' ' 

"A  very  prodigy  of  virtue.  Your  Sally  is  too 
trim  a  maiden  to  be  altogether  honest,  eh?" 
Mornay  paused  a  moment,  looking  at  his  old 
shipmate,  then  burst  into  a  loud  laugh. 

"Bah,  Jacquard !  sail  with  you  I  will,  whether 
or  no.  I  am  at  odds  with  the  world.  From  to- 
night, I,  too,  am  a  flibustier.  If  I  cannot  go  in 
the  cabin,  aft,  I  will  go  in  the  forecastle ;  if  not 
as  master,  as  man.  Pardieu,  as  the  very  lowest 
and  blackest  devil  of  you  all — " 

"You,  monsieur — you!" 

"Yes,  I.  I  have  squeezed  life  dry,  Jacquard. 
I  have  given  my  best  in  the  service  of  honor  and 
pride.  They  have  given  me  rank  and  empty 
honors,  and  all  the  while  have  kept  me  from  my 
dearest  desire.  From  to-night  virtue  and  I  are 
things  apart.  I  throw  her  from  me  as  I  would 
throw  a  sour  lemon." 

142 


THE  SAUCY  SALLY 


"A  pirato!"  Cornbury  came  around  and 
placed  a  hand  upon  each  of  the  Frenchman's 
shoulders,  while  he  looked  him  straight  in  the 
eyes.  " Monsieur  le  Chevalier,"  he  said,  so- 
berly— "Monsieur  de  Bresac — " 

At  the  sound  of  that  name  he  had  staked  so 
much  to  win,  the  Frenchman  dropped  his  eyes 
before  the  steady  gaze  of  the  Irishman.  But  if 
his  poor  heart  trembled,  his  body  did  not. 
Slowly  but  firmly  he  grasped  the  wrists  of  his 
friend  and  brought  his  hands  down  between 
them. 

'  *  No,  no,  Cornbury, ' '  he  said ; '  *  it  must  not  be. 
That  sacred  name — even  that — will  not  deter 
me.  It  is  done.  May  she  who  bears  it  find  less 
emptiness  in  honor  and  life  than  I.  I  wish  her 
no  evil,  but  I  pray  that  we  may  never  meet,  or 
the  fate  which  makes  men  forget  their  manhood, 
as  I  forget  mine  to-night,  may  awake  the  sleep- 
ing God  in  me  to  living  devil,  and  demand  that  I 
make  of  her  a  very  living  sacrifice  upon  its  very 
altar—" 

"Rene,  I  pray  you!"  cried  Cornbury.  Mor- 
nay  did  not  even  hear  him. 

143 


THE  LOVE  OF  MONSIEUR 

"I  yield  at  last.  From  the  time  I  came  into 
the  world  I  have  been  the  very  creature  of  fate. 
I  have  struck  my  colors,  Cornbury.  I  have 
hauled  down  my  gay  pennons.  I  have  left  my 
ship. ' '  He  leaned  for  a  moment  brokenly  upon 
the  bulkhead.  But  before  Cornbury  could 
speak  he  started  up.  ' '  No,  no.  Vice  shall  com- 
mand here  if  she  will.  She  will  be  but  a  poor 
mistress  can  she  not  serve  me  better  than  Am- 
bition and  Honor.  Come,  Cornbury.  Come  to 
the  Spanish  Main.  There  '11  be  the  crash  of  fight 
once  more  and  a  dip  into  the  wild  life  that 
brings  forgetfulness.  Come,  Cornbury." 

Jacquard,  who  had  been  listening  to  this  mad 
speech  with  his  mouth  as  wide  agape  as  his 
eyes  and  ears,  rose  to  his  feet. 

11  Monsieur,"  he  asked,  joyfully,  "you  will  go 
with  us  to  the  Spanish  Main?" 

"Yes,  yes!" 

"And  be  a  common  boucanier,  a  cutthroat! " 
said  Cornbury  the  ironical. 

"Ay!" 

"But,  man,  you  have  no  position  here ;  ye '11  be 
144 


THE  SAUCY  SALLY 


cuffed  and  beaten — maybe  shot  by  yon  drunken 
captain — " 

"I've  been  beaten  before — " 

"Monsieur,"  gladly  broke  in  Jacquard,  upon 
whom  the  light  had  dawned  at  last — "monsieur, 
I  am  second  in  command  here,  and  half  the  crew 
are  French.  I'm  not  without  authority  upon 
them.  Set  your  mind  at  rest.  With  these  men 
you  shall  have  fair  play."  He  paused,  scratch- 
ing his  head.  "With  the  captain  it  is  another 
matter — " 

"Bah,  Jacquard!  I've  weathered  worse 
storms.  Your  captain  is  a  stubborn  dog,  but 
I  've  a  fancy  he  barks  the  loudest  when  in  drink. 
Come,  Cornbury,  I  'm  resolved  to  start  from  the 
bottom  rung  of  the  ladder  once  more.  Will  you 
not  play  at  pirate  for  a  while?" 

"Unless  I  mistake,"  said  Cornbury,  coolly, 
"I  have  no  choice  in  the  matter.  The  walking 
is  but  poor,  and  I  've  no  humor  for  a  swim.  My 
dear  man,  ye  may  rest  your  mind  on  that — ye  're 
a  madman — of  that  I'm  assured.  But  I'll  stay 
with  ye  awhile." 


145 


CHAPTER  IX 
"BRAS-DE-FER" 

AND  so  for  the  present  it  was  settled.  Mon- 
JLJLsieur  Mornay  sought  rest  vainly,  and  crept 
upon  deck  at  the  first  flashing  of  the  sun  upoa 
the  horizon.  The  Sally,  dressed  in  a  full  suit 
of  cloths  upon  both  her  masts,  went  courtesying 
upon  her  course  with  a  fine  show  of  white  about 
her  bows  and  under  her  counter.  The  brig  was 
not  inaptly  named,  for  there  was  an  impudence 
in  the  rake  of  her  masts  and  in  the  way  she  wore 
her  canvas  which  belied  her  reputation  for  a 
sober  and  honest-dealing  merchantman.  There 
was  a  suggestion  of  archness,  too,  in  the  way 
her  slender  stem  curved  away  from  the  caresses 
of  the  leaping  foam  which  danced  rosy  and 
warm  with  the  dawn  to  give  her  greeting,  and  a 
touch  of  gallantry  in  the  tosses  and  swayings 
of  her  prow  and  head  as  they  nodded  up  and 
down,  the  very  soul  of  careless  coquetry.  But 

146 


'BRAS-DE-FER" 


now  and  then  an  opalescent  sea,  more  venture- 
some and  intrepid  than  his  fellows,  would  catch 
her  full  in  the  bluff  of  the  bows  and  go  a-flying 
over  her  forecastle  in  a  shower  of  spume  and 
water-drops,  which  in  the  golden  light  turned 
into  jewels  of  many  hues  and  went  flying  across 
the  deck  to  be  carried  down  to  the  cool,  translu- 
cent deeps  under  her  lee.  But  she  shook  herself 
free  with  a  disdainful,  sweeping  toss  and  set  her 
broad  bows  out  towards  the  open,  where  the 
colors  were  ever  growing  deeper  and  the  winds 
more  rude  and  boisterous,  as  though  she  recked 
not  how  impetuous  the  buffets  of  the  storm,  how 
turbulent  the  caresses  of  the  sea. 

Something  of  the  exhilaration  of  the  old  life 
came  upon  Monsieur  Mornay  as  he  sent  a  sea- 
man-like eye  aloft  at  the  straining  canvases. 
The  Sally  was  leaving  the  narrows  and  making 
for  the  broad  reaches  where  the  Channel  grew 
into  the  wide  ocean.  Far  away  over  his  lar- 
board quarter,  growing  ever  dimmer  in  the 
eastern  mist  of  the  morning,  was  the  coast  of 
France,  the  land  where  he  was  born,  where  he 
had  suffered  and  struggled  to  win  the  good 

147 


THE  LOVE  OF  MONSIEUR 

name  he  thought  his  birth  had  denied  him.  On 
his  right,  slipping  rapidly  astern,  was  England, 
where  he  had  come  to  crown  his  labors  with  a 
new  renown,  and  where  he  had  only  squandered 
that  favor  he  had  passed  so  many  years  of 
stress  in  winning — squandered  it  for  a  fancy 
that  now  was  like  some  half-forgotten  dream. 
It  seemed  only  yesterday  that  he  had  been 
standing  there  upon  a  vessel  of  his  own,  look- 
ing out  to  sea.  A  year  had  passed  since  he  had 
given  up  the  command  of  the  Dieu  Merci  and 
gone  to-  Paris — a  year  of  reckless  abandon  to 
pleasure  at  the  gay  court  of  Charles,  a  year  in 
which  he  had  lived  and  forgotten  what  had  gone 
before,  a  year  in  which  he  had  been  born  into 
the  life  that  was  his  by  every  right.  A  dream  ? 
Yes,  a  dream.  It  was  a  rough  awakening.  He 
looked  down  at  his  rough  clothing — his  baggy, 
red  trousers,  with  the  tawdry  brass  buttons, 
his  loose,  coarse  shirt  and  rough  boots,  the 
rudest  slops  that  the  brig  provided;  he  felt  of 
his  short  hair  under  the  woolen  cap,  and  he 
wondered  if  this  could  be  himself,  the  Chevalier 
Mornay;  the  cock  of  the  bird-cage  walk,  friend 

148 


fBRAS-I>E-FER" 


of  princes  and  the  intimate  of  a  king !  Astern, 
across  the  swirling  wake,  lay  the  city  of  pleas- 
ure, but  the  bitter  smile  that  came  into  his  face 
had  none  of  the  rancor  of  hatred.  It  spoke 
rather  of  failure,  of  disappointment,  of  things 
forsaken  and  unachieved. 

From  these  reflections  he  was  surprised  by 
the  sound  of  a  voice  at  his  elbow.  There,  beside 
him,  stood  a  fat  man  munching  at  a  sea-biscuit. 
His  face,  in  consonance  with  the  body,  was 
round  and  flabby,  but  there  the  consistency 
ended,  for  in  color  it  was  gray,  like  a  piece  of 
mildewed  sail-cloth.  The  distinguishing  fea- 
ture of  his  person  was  his  nose,  which,  round 
and  inflamed,  shone  like  a  beacon  in  the  middle 
of  his  pallid  physiognomy.  His  voice  was  lost 
in  the  immensity  of  his  frame,  for  when  he  spoke 
it  seemed  to  come  from  a  long  distance,  as 
though  choked  in  the  utterance  by  the  layers  of 
flesh  which  hung  from  his  chin  and  throat.  The 
pucker  which  did  duty  for  a  frown  upon  his 
brow  became  a  fat  knot. 

"You  vhos  a  passenger  upon  dis  schip,  hey?" 
he  said,  with  well-considered  sarcasm.  "You 

149 


THE  LOVE  OF  MONSIEUR 

vhos  a  passenger!  You  t'ink  you  make  dis 
voyage  to  America  und  do  noding,  eh  ?  By  Cott  I 
we  '11  see  about  dot. ' '  And  all  the  while  he  kept 
munching  at  the  sea-biscuit,  and  Monsieur  Mor- 
nay  stood  leaning  against  the  rail  watching  him. 
"You  vhos  a  French  duke  or  someding,  ain't  itT 
Veil,  ve  vant  none  of  de  royal  family  aboardt 
de  Saucy  Sally.  Und  vhen  I,  or  de  capdain,  or 
Shacky  Shackart  gif  de  orders,  you  joomp,  or, 
py  Cott!  I'll  know  vy  not!" 

But  still  Mornay  looked  at  him,  smiling.  He 
was  in  a  reckless  mood,  and  welcomed  any  op- 
portunity that  took  him  out  of  himself. 

"Veil,"  the  Dutchman  asked,  his  little,  thim 
voice  grown  shrill  with  rising  temper, ' '  vy  don 't 
you  moofe?  Vy  you  standt  looking  at  me?" 
And,  rushing  suddenly  forward,  he  aimed  a  blow 
of  his  heavy  boot  at  Mornay,  which,  had  it 
reached  its  destination,  must  have  wrought  a 
grave  injury  to  the  Frenchman.  So  great  an 
impetus  had  it  that,  not  finding  the  expected 
resistance,  the  foot  flew  high  in  the  air.  But 
the  Frenchman  was  not  there.  He  had  stepped 
quickly  aside,  and,  deftly  catching  the  heel  of 

150 


'BRAS-DE-FER" 


the  boot  in  his  hand,  threw  the  surprised  Dutch- 
man completely  off  his  balance,  so  that  he  fell, 
a  sprawling  mass  of  squirming  fat,  upon  the 
deck.  The  commotion  had  drawn  a  number  of 
the  crew  aft,  and  the  captain,  reeling  uncer- 
tainly to  the  roll  of  the  vessel,  came  blinking  and 
puffing  up  the  after-ladder.  By  this  time  the 
Dutchman  had  struggled  to  an  upright  posture 
and  came  rushing  upon  Mornay  again,  all  arms 
and  legs,  sputtering  and  furious. 

But  the  captain,  no  matter  how  deep  in  drink, 
was  a  person  with  the  shrewdest  sense  of  his 
importance  upon  a  ship  of  his  own.  He  was 
jealous  of  all  blows  not  aimed  by  his  own  sturdy 
fist,  and  it  was  his  fancy  that  none  should  strike 
any  but  himself.  It  was  therefore  with  a  sense 
of  his  outraged  office  that  he  rushed  between 
the  two  men,  and  with  his  bulky  body  and  long 
arms  averted  the  windmill  attack  of  the  burly 
Dutchman. 

' '  Mutiny,  by ,  and  not  hout  of  soundings ! 

Stand  fast,  Gratz !  Stand  fast,  I  say !  Hi  '11  do 
the  billy-coddling  on  this  ship.  Stand,  I  say! 
Now,  what  is  it?" 

151 


THE  LOVE  OF  MONSIEUR 

Gratz  stepped  forward  a  pace  and  spat. 
11  Yaw!  I  gif  her  orders.  And  she  stumpled  me 
packwards  upon  de  deck." 

"What!"  roared  the  captain.  "Soho!  we'll 
see!"  and  he  seized  a  pin  from  the  rail.  The 
situation  was  threatening.  Winch  was  already 
striding  forward,  and  his  upraised  pin  seemed 
about  to  descend  upon  the  luckless  Mornay 
when  Jacquard  interposed  a  long,  bony  arm. 

"Fair  play,  Billee  Winch!  You'll  slaughter 
the  man ! ' ' 

"Out  of  the  way!" 

'  *  Fair  play,  I  say,  Billee  Winch ! ' '  Jacquard 
stood  his  ground  and  only  gripped  the  captain 
the  tighter.  "Fair  play,  Billee  Winch,  I  tell 
you!  Gratz  fell  over  his  own  feet.  I  saw  it. 
Listen  tome." 

The  captain  paused  a  moment.  The  lie  had 
distracted  him,  and  in  that  pause  Jacquard  saw 
safety.  The  captain  looked  Wearily  at  Mornay, 
who  had  made  no  move  to  defend  himself,  but 
stood  with  little  sign  of  discomposure,  awaiting 
the  outcome  of  the  difficulty. 

152 


'BRAS-DE-FER" 


"If  Monsieur  le  Capitaine  will  but  allow 
me — " 

"By  Cott,"  broke  in  Gratz,  "you  shaU  not!" 
and  made  a  wild  effort  to  strike  Mornay  again. 
But  this  time  Jacquard  caught  him  and  twisted 
him  safely  out  of  the  way. 

"By  the  Devil's  Pot!"  roared  Winch,  "am  I 
in  command,  or  am  I  not?"  He  raised  hie 
weapon  this  time  towards  Gratz,  who  cowered 
away  as  though  he  feared  the  blow  would  fall. 

"If  Monsieur  le  Capitaine  will  allow  me,"  be- 
gan Mornay  again,  politely,  "I  would  take  it 
as  a  pleasure — " 

"You!"  sneered  the  captain,  with  a  kind  of 
laugh.  "You!  Why,  Frenchman,  Yan  Gratz 
will  make  three  of  ye.  He'll  eat  ye  skin  an* 
bones." 

Jacquard  smiled  a  little.  "Vottd!  Billee 
Winch,"  he  cried,  "the  way  out  of  your  diffi- 
culty: a  little  circle  upon  the  deck,  a  falchion 
or  a  half -pike — fair  play  for  all,  and — " 

"Yaw!  yaw!  Fair  play!  fair  play!"  yelled 
the  crew,  rejoicing  at  the  prospect  of  the  sport. 

Billy  Winch  blinked  a  bleared  and  bloodshot 
153 


THE  LOVE  OF  MONSIEUR 

eye  at  Jacquard  and  Mornay,  and  then  a  wide 
smile  broke  the  sluggish  surface  of  the  skin  into 
numberless  wrinkles. 

* '  If  ye  '11  have  it  that  way, ' '  he  grinned,  *  *  ye  '11 
be  stuck  like  a  sheep.  But  'twill  save  me  trouble. 
So  fight  away,  my  bully,  an'  be  dammed  to  ye !" 

Immediately  a  ring  was  formed,  into  which 
the  combatants  were  speedily  pushed.  Gratz 
laughed  in  his  shrillest  choked  falsetto,  while 
he  threw  off  his  coat  and  leered  at  the  French- 
man. The  huge  bulk  of  the  man  was  the  more 
apparent  when  his  coat  had  been  removed,  for 
in  spite  of  his  girth  and  fat  his  limbs  were  set 
most  sturdily  in  his  body,  and  though  the 
muscles  of  his  arms  moved  slothfully  beneath 
the  skin,  it  was  easily  to  be  seen  that  this  was  a 
most  formidable  antagonist.  That  he  himself 
considered  his  task  a  rare  sport,  which  would 
still  further  enhance  his  reputation  among  the 
crew,  was  easily  to  be  perceived  in  the  way  he 
looked  at  Monsieur  Mornay.  And  in  this  opin- 
ion he  was  not  alone,  for  even  Cornbury,  who 
had  pressed  closely  to  the  Frenchman's  side, 
wore  a  look  which  showed  how  deep  was  his  con- 

154 


'BRAS-DE-FER" 


cern  over  his  friend's  predicament.  Only  Jae- 
quard,  of  all  those  who  stood  about,  felt  no  fear 
for  Mornay.  Upon  the  Dieu  Merci  he  had  seen 
the  chevalier  do  a  prodigy  of  strength  and  skill 
which  had  settled  a  mutiny  once  and  for  all,  and 
had  earned  him  a  title  which  had  given  him  a 
greater  reputation  in  the  Marine  of  France 
than  all  the  distinctions  which  the  King  had  seen 
fit  to  bestow.  And  as  Jacquard  looked  at  him, 
slim  and  not  over-tall,  but  cool  and  deliberate, 
as  upon  his  own  deck  three  years  ago,  the 
Frenchman  became  again  "Rene  Bras-de-Fer," 
'  *  Rene  the  Iron  Arm, ' '  who  fought  for  the  love 
of  fighting  only,  and  who  knew  nothing  of  fear 
on  sea  or  land. 

That  superiority  in  men  which  in  spite  of 
every  adverse  circumstance  will  not  be  denied 
shone  so  conspicuously  in  the  face  and  figure 
of  the  Frenchman  that  the  row  of  hairy  faces 
about  him  looked  in  wonder.  There  was  a  rough 
jest  'or  two,  for  Yan  Gratz  had  won  his  way  from 
the  bowsprit  aft  by  buffets  and  blows,  and  had 
waxed  fat  in  the  operation.  To  them  he  was  the 
very  living  embodiment  of  a  fighting  devil  of 

155 


the  sea.  But  many  of  them  saw  something  in 
the  cool,  impassive  expression  of  the  French- 
man— a  something  which  had  won  him  friends 
(and  enemies)  before  this,  and  were  silent. 

The  Frenchman,  with  a  quiet  deliberation, 
rolled  the  sleeves  of  his  shirt  above  his  elbows 
and  took  the  half -pike  that  was  thrust  into  his 
hands.  It  has  been  said  that  the  Chevalier 
Mornay  was  not  above  the  medium  height,  nor, 
with  the  exception  of  an  arm  which  might  have 
seemed  a  little  too  long  to  be  in  perfect  propor- 
tion, gave  in  his  appearance  any  striking  evi- 
dence of  especial  physical  prowess.  He  had 
been  known  in  London  for  a  graceful  and  ready 
sword,  and  in  his  few  encounters  he  had  never 
received  so  much  as  a  scratch.  But  even  Gratz 
was  stricken  with  wonderment  at  the  appear- 
ance of  the  forearm,  which  his  wide  sleeves  had 
so  effectually  concealed.  The  arm  of  the  cheva- 
lier, as  he  brought  his  pike  into  a  posture  of 
defense,  showed  a  more  remarkable  degree  of 
development  than  he  had  ever  seen  before  in 
any  man — Frenchman  or  Englishman — of  his 
stature.  The  legs,  strong  and  straight  as  they 

156 


"BRAS-DE-FER" 


were,  with  a  generous  bulge  at  the  calf,  betrayed 
nothing  of  this  wonderful  arm,  which,  swelling 
from  a  strong  though  not  unslender  wrist,  rose 
in  fine  layers  of  steel-like  ligament,  tangled  and 
knotted  like  the  limbs  of  an  oak.  And  up  above 
the  elbow  the  falling  cotton  shirt  scarcely  hid 
the  sturdy  bulk  of  muscle  which  swelled  and 
trembled  as  the  fingers  moved  the  weapon  down 
upon  guard  to  resist  the  furious  attack  of  the 
Hollander.  Gratz  prided  himself  no  less  upon 
his  use  of  the  pike  than  upon  his  use  of  his  fists 
and  boots,  and,  thinking  to  end  the  matter  in  a 
summary  fashion,  which  might  atone  for  his 
somewhat  awkward  fall  upon  the  deck,  he  be- 
gan thrusting  hotly  and  with  a  skill  which  had 
hitherto  availed  his  purposes.  But  he  soon  dis- 
covered that  with  this  Frenchman,  whom  he  had 
so  hardily  challenged,  he  was  to  have  no  ad- 
vantage either  in  the  reach  or  in  the  knowledge 
of  the  game.  Mornay  's  play,  he  quickly  learned, 
was  to  allow  him  completely  to  exhaust  himself. 
This,  instead  of  teaching  him  caution,  only  in- 
creased his  fury,  so  that  at  the  end  of  a  few 
moments  of  fruitless  exertion  he  found  himself 

157 


THE  LOVE  OF  MONSIEUR 

puffing  like  a  great  grampus,  the  perspiration 
pouring  blindingly  into  his  eyes  and  down  his 
arms,  until  his  fat  hands  grew  moist  and  slipped 
uncertainly  upon  the  handle  of  his  weapon. 

The  cloud  that  had  hung  upon  Cornbury's 
face  at  the  beginning  of  the  combat  had  disap- 
peared, and  with  a  childish  delight  in  the  clash 
of  arms  he  watched  his  friend  slowly  but  surely 
steal  away  the  offensive  power  of  the  Dutchman, 
whose  look  of  confidence  had  been  replaced  by 
a  lightness  of  eye  and  a  quivering  of  the  fore- 
head and  lips  which  denoted  the  gravest  quan- 
dary of  uncertainty.  Monsieur  Mornay  was 
breathing  rapidly,  but  his  brows  were  as  level, 
Ms  eye  as  clear,  his  hand  as  steady  as  when  he 
had  begun. 

In  a  few  moments  the  struggle  which  had 
promised  such  dire  results  became  a  farce.  The 
Frenchman  had  suddenly  assumed  the  offensive, 
and,  beating  down  the  guard  of  the  other,  began 
pricking  him  gently,  with  rare  skill  and  dis- 
crimination, in  different  conspicuous  parts  of 
his  anatomy.  The  chevalier's  weapon  was 
sharp,  and  the  skin  of  Yan  Gratz  was  tender, 

158 


'BRAS-DE-FER" 


but  so  nicely  were  the  thrusts  of  the  Frenchman 
tempered  to  the  occasion  that  they  did  no  more 
than  draw  a  small  quantity  of  blood  at  each 
place,  which  oozed  forth  in  patches  upon  his 
moist  and  clinging  shirt,  so  that  he  presently  re- 
sembled some  huge,  spotted  animal  of  an  un- 
known species  which  disaster  might  have  driven 
from  his  fastnesses  in  the  deep.  It  would  have 
been  a  remarkable  exhibition  of  skill  with  a  cut- 
and-thrust  sword  or  a  rapier,  but  with  a  half- 
pike  it  was  little  less  than  marvelous. 

Yan  Gratz  struggled  on,  his  tired  arms  vainly 
striving  against  the  Frenchman's  assaults. 
Once,  when  the  Dutchman  had  been  disarmed^ 
Monsieur  Mornay  generously  allowed  him  to 
regain  his  weapon,  choosing  the  advantage  of 
Yan  Gratz 's  posture,  however,  to  complete  the 
circle  of  his  punctures  by  a  prick  in  the  seat  of 
his  honor,  which  quickly  straightened  him  again. 

When  the  game  had  gone  far  enough,  and  the 
pallid  pasty  face  of  Yan  Gratz  was  so  suffused 
that  it  looked  little  less  red  than  his  nose  or  the 
blood  upon  his  shirt,  and  his  gasps  for  breath 

159 


THE  LOVE  OF  MONSIEUR 

were  become  so  short  that  they  threatened  to 
oome  no  more  at  all,  Monsieur  Mornay  threw 
his  weapon  down  upon  the  deck  and,  breathing 
deeply,  folded  his  arms  and  stood  at  rest. 

"Mynheer,"  he  said,  "it  was  a  mistake  to 
have  begun.  I  am  the  best  half-pikeman  in 
France." 

The  Dutchman  blinked  at  him  with  his  small 
pig-eyes,  out  of  which  the  bitterness  of  his 
humiliation  flashed  and  sparkled  in  a  wild  and 
rengef ul  light.  The  Frenchman  turned  his  back 
to  pass  beyond  the  circle  of  grinning  men  who 
had  not  scrupled  to  hide  their  delight  and  ad- 
miration at  his  prowess  in  vanquishing  their 
bully.  But  Gratz,  whose  exhaustion  even  could 
not  avail  to  curb  his  fury,  put  all  the  small  store 
of  his  remaining  energy  into  a  savage  rush, 
which  he  directed  full  at  the  back  of  the  retiring 
Frenchman.  A  cry  arose,  and  Mornay  would 
have  been  transfixed  had  not  Cornbury  inter- 
cepted the  cowardly  thrust  by  a  nimble  foot, 
over  which  the  Dutchman  stumbled  and  fell 
sprawling  into  the  scuppers.  The  point  of  his 

160 


'BRAS-DE-FER" 


weapon  grazed  the  arm  of  Mornay  and  stuck 
quivering  in  the  deck,  a  yard  beyond  where  he 
had  stood.  Jacquard  rushed  to  the  prostrate 
figure  in  a  fury  at  his  treachery,  but  the  man 
made  no  sign  or  effort  to  arise. 

1 '  By  the  'Oly  Rood !  A  craven  stroke ! ' '  cried 
the  captain,  fetching  the  Dutchman  a  resound- 
ing kick,  which  brought  forth  a  feeble  groan. 
*  *  Get  up ! "  he  roared.  ' '  Get  up  an '  go  forward. 
Hods-niggars !  we  want  none  but  honest  blows 
among  shipmates." 

Yan  Gratz  struggled  to  his  feet  and  stumbled 
heavily  down  into  the  deck-house.  Jacquard 
was  grinning  from  ear  to  ear.  If  he  had  planned 
the  combat  himself,  the  result  could  not  have 
been  more  to  his  liking.  The  favor  of  Billy 
Winch  was  no  small  thing  to  win,  and  Monsieur 
Mornay  had  chosen  the  nearest  road  to  his 
heart.  The  captain,  after  hurling  a  parting 
curse  at  the  Dutchman's  figure,  slouched  over  to 
Mornay. 

"Zounds!  but  ye  'ave  a  'and  for  the  pike, 
my  bully.  'Ave  ye  aught  o'  seamanship?  If 

161 


THE  LOVE  OF  MONSIEUR 

ye  know  your  bangles,  ye 're  the  very  figure  of 
a  mate  for  Saucy  Sally,  for  we  want  no  more  o ' 
'IM/'  and  he  jerked  his  finger  in  the  direction 
taken  by  Yan  Gratz. 

Mornay  laughed.  "I've  had  the  deck  of  a 
taller  ship  than  Saucy  Sally."  Billy  Winch 
grasped  Mornay  by  the  hand  right  heartily. 

"Come,  what  d'ye  say?  Me  an'  Jacky  Jac- 
quard  an'  you.  We  three  aft.  We've  need  o' 
ye.  Zounds!  but  ye've  the  useful  thrust  an' 
parry."  Then  he  roared  with  laughter.  "An' 
I'm  mistaken  if  ye 're  not  as  'andy  a  liar  as  a 
pikeman.  I've  seen  the  play  of  the  best  in. 
the  French  Marine,  and  Captain  Rene  Mornay 
would  have  a  word  to  say  with  ye  as  to  who's 
the  best  half -pikeman  in  France. ' ' 

Jacquard  held  his  sides  to  better  contain  him- 
self ;  his  mouth  opened  widely  and  his  little  eyes 
were  quite  closed  with  the  excess  of  his  delight. 
Mornay  and  Cornbury  smiled  a  little,  and  the 
Frenchman  said,  with  composure: 

"Perhaps.  Monsieur  le  Capitaine  Mornay 
and  I  are  not  strangers.  But  he  holds  his  repu- 

162 


ffBRAS-DE-FER' 


tation  so  low  and  I  mine  so  high,  that  I  cannot 
bring  myself  to  fight  him. ' ' 

Here  Jacquard  could  no  longer  contain  him- 
self. 

I  *  Can  you  not  see  farther  than  the  end  of  your 
bowsprit,  Billee  Winch?"  he  cried;  and  while 
the  captain  wondered, ' l  Can  you  not  see,  stupid 
fish?— 'tis  Bras-de-Fer  himself!" 

Blackbeard  fell  back  a  step  or  two  in  his 
amazement,  while  a  murmur  swept  over  the 
crew,  who,  loath  to  leave  the  scene,  had  re- 
mained interested  listeners  to  the  colloquy. 

"What!  Rene  the  Iron  Arm  aboard  the 
Sally?"  said  the  captain,  approaching  the 
Frenchman  again.  "Soho!  Though,  by  St. 
Paul's — ye 're  not  unlike —  An'  with  a  wig  an' 
doublet —  'Pon  my  soul,  Jacky  Jacquard,  but  I 
believe  'tis  the  truth.  Say,  is  it  so,  master?" 

"I  am  Rene  Mornay,"  said  the  Frenchman. 

I 1  Soho ! "  he  roared  in  delight.    ' '  Then  Sally 
shall  give  ye  meat  and  drink  and  make  a  bed  to 
ye.    An'  when  ye  will  she'll  set  ye  ashore  in 
France.    Or,  if  ye  care  for  the  clashin'  of  arms, 

163 


THE  LOVE  OF  MONSIEUR 

she  '11  show  ye  the  path  of  the  galleons  o '  Spain. 
Come,  let's  below  and  drink  to  a  better  under- 
standing. 

It  was  thus  that  Monsieur  Mornay  sailed 
forth  for  the  Spanish  Main. 


CHAPTER  X 
BRAS-DE-FER  MAKES  A  CAPTURE 

THE  feat  at  arms  of  Monsieur  Mornay  at  the 
expense  of  the  luckless  Gratz  had  set  the 
ship  by  the  ears,  and  with  little  opposition. 
Bras-de-Fer  became  the  third  in  command. 
Before  many  weeks  were  gone  it  was  discovered 
that  he  had  his  seamanship  at  as  ready  a  con- 
venience as  his  pike-play,  for  in  a  troublesome 
squall  in  a  windy  watch  on  deck,  while  Jacquard 
was  below,  he  had  not  scrupled  to  take  the  com- 
mand from  Captain  Billy  Winch,  who  was  so 
deep  in  liquor  that  he  didn't  know  the  main- 
brace  from  a  spritsail  sheet,  and  who  had  had 
the  Sally  upon  her  beam-ends,  with  all  his  ports 
and  hatches  open.  Mornay  sprang  to  the  helm 
and  gave  the  orders  necessary  to  bring  her  to 
rights.  Indeed,  the  command  had  clearly  de- 
volved upon  Jacquard ;  for  the  lucid  intervals  of 
Captain  Billy  Winch  were  becoming  less  and 

165 


THE  LOVE  OF  MONSIEUR 

less,  until  from  that  state  of  continued  jubilation 
which  marked  his  departure  from  the  port  of 
London  he  had  passed  into  one  of  beatific  uncon- 
sciousness, from  which  he  only  aroused  himself 
to  assuage  his  thirst  the  more  copiously.  One 
black  morning  in  the  wilds  of  the  Atlantic  he 
reached  the  deck,  his  eyes  wide  with  fever  and 
his  mouth  full  of  oaths,  swearing  that  he  would 
no  longer  stay  below,  but  his  legs  were  so  com- 
pletely at  a  loss  that,  what  with  the  wild 
plunges  of  the  vessel  and  the  assaults  of  the 
seas  which  made  clean  breaches  over  her,  he 
was  thrown  down  into  the  scuppers  again  and 
again,  and  all  but  drowned  in  the  wash  of  the 
deck.  But  the  bruising  and  sousing  in  the  salt- 
water, instead  of  rebuffing  him  or  abating  a  whit 
of  his  ardor,  but  served  to  sober  him  and  make 
him  the  more  ambitious  to  take  his  proper  place 
aboard  the  vessel.  Jacquard  would  have  re^ 
strained  him,  but  he  threw  the  Frenchman  aside, 
and,  while  trying  to  descend  the  ladder  at  the 
angle  of  the  poop,  lost  his  balance,  and,  catching 
wildly  at  the  lee  bulwark,  disappeared  in  the 

166 


BRAS-DE-FER  MAKES  A  CAPTURE 

dirty  smother  under  the  quarter  and  was  seen 
no  more. 

After  this  mishap,  Jacquard  went  below  to 
the  cabin  with  Mornay  to  make  his  plans  for  the 
future  of  the  Saucy  Sally.  There,  among  the 
rum-reeking  effects  of  the  captain,  he  discov- 
ered the  royal  charter  and  warrant  under  which 
the  vessel  sailed,  together  with  the  lists  of 
Spanish  vessels  which  should  have  left  port, 
their  destinations  and  probable  values.  Jac- 
quard outlined  the  plans  he  had  made  for  their 
operations  when  they  should  have  reached  the 
waters  he  had  chosen.  Cornbury,  who  had  been 
reading  abstractedly  in  the  warrant,  gave  a 
sudden  cry. 

"Bresac,"  he  said,  pointing  a  long  forefinger 
upon  the  parchment.  "Faith,  my  dear  man,  your 
fortune  is  a  silly,  whimsical  jade,  after  all. 
Cast  your  eye  hither  for  a  moment  of  time. " 

Mornay  took  the  document  in  amazement. 

Whereas  it  hath  come  to  Our  Notice  [it  began] 
that  certain  Enemies  of  the  State  sailing  in  the 
Vessels  of  the  Kingdom  of  Spain  have  prepared, 
ordered,  and  levied  war  against  Us,  and  have  mo- 

167 


THE  LOVE  OF  MONSIEUR 

lested  and  harassed  Our  lawful  Commerce  upon  the 
Sea,  to  the  oppression  of  Our  loyal  Subjects  carrying 
on  the  same,  by  the  advice  of  Our  Privy  Council 
we  hereby  grant  to  our  good  and  loyal  subject  Henry 
Heywood,  Knt.,  that  his  vessel  or  vessels — 

' '  'Tis  as  plain  as  a  pike-handle, ' '  said  Corn- 
bury.  And  as  Mornay  still  scanned  the  docu- 
ment: " Faith,  can  ye  not  see? — ye 're  a  guest 
upon  a  vessel  of  your  own.  The  vessel  and  all 
she  owns  is  yours,  man — yours ! ' ' 

"Parbleu!"  said  Mornay,  when  the  edge  of 
his  wonderment  was  dulled.  "I  believe  you.  A 
rare  investment,  indeed,  for  the  millions  of  the 
Bresacs." 

"A  thousand  per  centum  at  the  very  least, 
with  a  modicum  for  the  King.  Ye  cannot  won- 
der how  Charles  bewailed  the  man's  demise. 
Ye  touched  his  purse,  Rene.  And  friendship 
has  little  to  expect  from  the  conscience  of  an 
empty  pocket. " 

"By  my  life,  it  is  so!"  said  the  wide-eyed 
Mornay.  "Jacquard  shall  know.  Listen,  my 
friend. ' '  And,  with  a  particular  reticence  with 
regard  to  the  name  of  Mistress  Clerke,  he  told 

168 


BRAS-DE-FER  MAKES  A  CAPTURE 

Jacquard  of  the  great  secret,  the  rape  of  the 
papers,  and  the  other  things  pertaining  to  his 
discovery.  It  was  learned  that  in  the  matter 
Jacquard  knew  only  one  Captain  Brail,  a  ship- 
chandler  and  owner,  who  had  the  finding  of  all 
the  sea  appurtenances,  the  making  of  the  con- 
tracts, and  the  furnishing  of  the  stores.  The 
sympathetic  Jacquard  followed  Monsieur  Mor- 
nay  through  a  description  of  the  duel,  his  face 
wreathed  in  smiles,  his  eyes  shining  with  de- 
light. He  wept  at  the  tale  of  the  mother,  com- 
miserated the  orphan,  and,  when  he  learned  how 
Sir  Henry  Heywood  had  taken  possession  of  the 
proofs  of  the  boy's  birth  and  lineage  and  had 
kept  him  from  his  rightful  inheritance,  Jac- 
quard rose  upon  his  long  legs  and  swore  aloud 
at  the  man's  perfidy.  When  Mornay  had  fin- 
ished, he  sat  silent  a  moment,  clasping  and  un- 
clasping his  knotted,  bony  fingers. 

11  It  is  a  strange  story,  monsieur — the  strang- 
est I  have  ever  heard.  It  means,  monsieur,  that 
upon  the  Saucy  Sally,  at  least,  you  have  come 
into  your  own.  Besides,  once  my  captain,  al- 
ways my  captain.  Allans!  It  shall  be  as  before. 

169 


Bras-de-Fer  shall  lead.  Jacquard  shall  obey. 
That  is  all. ' '  He  arose  and  took  Monsieur  Mor- 
nay  by  the  hand.  "Henceforth,"  he  said,  "it 
shall  be  Captain  Rene  Bras-de-Fer.  Now  we 
will  go  upon  deck,  and  I  shall  tell  them." 

Although  the  death  of  Billy  Winch  had 
caused  much  commotion  aboard  the  vessel,  the 
crew  in  the  main  were  tractable  and  compliant 
Upon  his  own  great  popularity,  upon  the  repu- 
tation of  Bras-de-Fer,  and  upon  the  large  por- 
tion of  the  crew  who  were  Frenchmen  like  him- 
self, Jacquard  relied  to  effect  the  necessary 
changes  in  the  management  of  the  vessel.  The 
Frenchman's  bearing  since  he  had  come  aboard 
had  been  such  as  to  enhance  rather  than  to  re- 
move the  early  impression  that  he  had  made, 
and  but  a  spark  was  needed  to  amalgamate  him 
with  the  ship's  company.  That  spark  Jacquard 
dexterously  applied.  He  called  all  hands  aft, 
and  with  a  stirring  appeal  to  their  imagination, 
one  by  one,  recalled  the  feats  of  the  chevalier — 
the  fight  in  the  open  boat  with  the  Austrian 
pirate,  the  defiance  of  the  Spanish  Admiral  un- 
der the  very  guns  of  the  Bona  Ventura,  the  six 

170 


BRAS-DE-FER  MAKES  A  CAPTURE 

duels  upon  the  landing-place  at  Cronenburg,  the 
wreck  of  the  Sainte  Barbe,  and  the  mutiny  and 
ignominious  defeat  of  Jean  Goujon  upon  the 
Dieu  Merci.  All  of  these  things  he  painted  with 
glowing  colors,  so  that  as  he  stepped  forth  on 
deck  they  hailed  Bras-de-Fer  with  a  glad  ac- 
claim. Then  Bras-de-Fer  told  them  what  he 
hoped  to  do,  and  read  them  (amid  huzzahs)  the 
list  of  Spanish  shipping. 

When  the  matter  of  the  captaincy  had  been 
duly  settled  beyond  a  doubt,  with  a  grace  which 
could  not  fail  to  gain  approval,  he  unhesitat- 
ingly appointed  Yan  Gratz  again  the  third  in 
command,  and  this  magnanimity  did  much  to 
unite  him  to  the  small  faction  which  stood  aloof. 
The  frank  confidence  he  placed  in  the  Hollander 
put  them  upon  the  terms  of  an  understanding 
which  Gratz  accepted  with  as  good  a  grace  as 
he  could  bring  to  the  occasion.  A  cask  of  rum 
was  brought  up  on  the  deck  and  the  incident 
ended  in  jubilation  and  health-giving,  which  in 
point  of  good-fellowship  and  favorable  augury 
left  nothing  to  be  desired.  At  the  end  of  a  week 
Bras-de-Fer  had  given  still  more  adequate 

171 


THE  LOVE  OF  MONSIEUR 

proofs  of  his  ability.  "With  a  shrewd  eye  he  had 
discovered  the  natural  leaders  among  the  crew. 
These  he  placed  in  positions  of  authority.  Then, 
appointing  Cornbury  master-at-arms,  put  the 
men  upon  their  mettle  at  pike-play  and  the 
broadsword  with  such  admirable  results  that 
the  carousing  and  laxity  engendered  by  the 
habits  of  Captain  Billy  Winch  became  less  and 
less,  until  the  rum-casks  were  no  more  brought 
up  on  deck,  except  upon  rare  and  exceptional 
occasions.  Of  growls  there  were  a  few,  and 
here  and  there  a  muttering  apprised  him  of  dis- 
satisfaction among  the  free-drinkers.  But  he 
offered  prizes  from  the  first  Spanish  vessel  cap- 
tured for  those  most  proficient  in  the  manly 
arts,  to  appease  their  distaste  for  the  sport, 
himself  entering  upon  the  games  with  a  spirit 
and  a  poise  which  were  irresistible.  The  unre- 
strained life  had  caught  the  fancy  of  Cornbury, 
too,  and  with  nimble  tongue  and  nimbler  weapon 
he  won  his  way  with  the  rough  blades  as  though 
he  had  entered  upon  this  service  by  the  same 
hawse-pipe  as  themselves.  Once,  when  a  not  too 
complimentary  remark  had  been  passed  upon 

172 


BEAS-DE-FER  MAKES  A  CAPTURE 

his  beard,  which  was  grown  long  and  of  an  in- 
genuous crimson,  he  took  the  offender  by  the 
nose  and  at  the  point  of  his  sword  forced  him 
upon  his  knees  to  swear  by  all  the  saints  that 
his  life-long  prayer  had  been  that  some  ex- 
clusive dispensation  of  nature  should  one  day 
turn  his  beard  the  very  self-same  color  as  the 
Irish  captain's;  who  then,  in  satisfaction  of 
the  cravings  of  that  reluctant  delinquent,  forced 
him  below  to  the  paint  closet,  where  he  caused 
him  to  bedaub  himself  very  liberally  with  a  pig- 
ment of  the  same  uncompromising  hue — so  lib- 
erally that  not  storm  nor  stress  could  avail  for 
many  weeks  to  wash  clean  the  stigma.  Indeed, 
so  strikingly  did  the  combative  characteristics 
of  his  race  manifest  themselves  in  the  per- 
formance of  his  new  duties  that  but  for  Jac- 
quard  the  aggressive  Irishman  had  been  almost 
continually  embroiled.  But  as  it  was,  Cornbury 
served  his  captain  a  useful  purpose ;  and,  though 
the  ready  tact  of  Bras-de-Fer  averted  serious 
difficulties,  there  were  adventures  aplenty  for 
the  master-at-arms — enough,  at  least,  to  satisfy 
the  peculiar  needs  of  his  temperament. 

173 


THE  LOVE  OF  MONSIEUR 

In  this  fashion,  learning  a  discipline  of  gun- 
nery, arms,  and  seamanship,  and  a  little  of  dis- 
content at  the  restraint  besides,  they  crept  south 
and  across  the  broad  Atlantic.  Gales  buffeted 
them  and  blew  them  from  their  course,  but  after 
many  weeks  they  made  northing  enough  to  cross 
the  path  of  the  Spanish  silver  ships  from  South 
America.  The  first  vessel  they  took  was  a  gal- 
leon from  Caracas.  She  was  heavy  with  spices 
and  silks,  but  had  lost  her  convoy  in  the  night, 
and  was  making  for  Porto  Bello.  A  shot  across 
her  bows  hove  her  to,  and  her  guard  of  soldiers 
gave  her  up  without  a  struggle.  The  Sally  hove 
alongside,  and  here  came  the  first  test  of  the  dis- 
cipline of  Bras-de-Fer.  The  fellows  rushed 
aboard  with  drawn  weapons,  and,  finding  no  re- 
sistance, were  so  enraged  at  the  lack  of  oppor- 
tunity to  display  their  new  prowess  that  they 
fell  to  striking  lustily  right  and  left,  and  driving 
the  frightened  Spaniards  forward  shrieking 
down  into  the  hold.  'Twas  rare  sport  for  Corn- 
bury,  who  went  dancing  forward,  aiding  the 
progress  of  the  flying  foe  with  the  darting  end 
of  his  backsword.  Only  the  best  efforts  of  Bras- 

174 


BRAS-DE-FER  MAKES  A  CAPTURE 

de-Fer  prevented  the  men  from  following  the 
victims  below,  where  darker  deeds  might  have 
been  done.  Yan  Gratz,  who  had  made  one  voy- 
age with  an  old  pirato  named  Mansfelt,  made  so 
bold  as  to  propose  that  the  Spaniards  be 
dropped  overboard,  that  being  the  simplest  solu- 
tion of  the  difficulty.  But  Bras-de-Fer  clapped 
the  hatches  over  the  prisoners  with  a  decision 
which  left  little  doubt  in  the  minds  of  the  crew 
as  to  his  intentions.  There  was  a  flare  of  anger 
at  this  high-handed  discipline,  for  they  were 
free  men  of  the  sea,  they  said,  and  owed  nothing 
to  any  one.  Captain  Billy  Winch  had  been  none 
too  particular  in  this  matter  of  detail.  But,  in 
spite  of  their  curses,  Bras-de-Fer  brought  the 
prisoners  and  the  prize  to  port  in  safety. 

It  was  the  beginning  of  a  series  of  small  suc- 
cesses which  filled  the  Sally's  store-rooms  and 
brought  three  prizes  for  her  into  the  harbor  of 
Port  Eoyal,  Jamaica.  There,  quarrelsome, 
bedizened,  and  swaggering  through  the  streets 
of  the  town,  Bras-de-Fer  and  Cornbury  saw 
many  of  these  gentlemen  of  the  sea,  who  owed 
allegiance  to  no  man,  company,  or  government. 

175 


THE  LOVE  OF  MONSIEUR 

In  the  same  trade  as  themselves,  it  might  be, 
save  only  that  with  a  less  nice  discrimination 
these  gentry  robbed  broadly,  while  the  Sally,  in 
despite  of  her  very  crew,  fought  and  took  only 
from  the  enemies  of  the  English  King.  It  was 
there,  too,  that  the  Frenchman  met  the  new 
English  governor,  and  explained  the  freak  of 
fortune  by  which  he  had  come  to  command  the 
Sally.  The  governor  became  most  friendly,  and 
(with  a  sly  look  of  cupidity,  which  had  but  one 
meaning)  gave  information  of  the  sailing  of  the 
San  Isidro  from  Spain,  bearing  the  new  gov- 
ernor of  Chagres,  several  bishops  and  priests, 
and  gold  and  silver  coin  of  inestimable  value 
for  the  priests  of  the  Church  in  the  Spanish  col- 
onies of  America. 

Learning  that  the  San  Isidro  would  stop  at 
the  Havana,  Bras-de-Fer  filled  his  water-tanks 
and  sailed  boldly  forth  to  intercept  her.  It  was 
untried  water  to  the  Frenchman,  and  charted 
with  so  little  adequacy  that  the  booming  of  the 
surf  upon  the  reefs  sounded  with  a  too  por- 
tentous frequency  upon  the  ears.  But  Jacquard 
had  eyes  and  ears  for  everything,  and  they  won 

176 


BRAS-DE-FER  MAKES  A  CAPTURE 

their  way  to  the  Florida  coast  without  mishap. 
There  a  herikano  buffeted  them  out  to  sea,  and 
it  was  with  many  misgivings  that  they  won  their 
way  back  to  the  channels  of  the  Bahamas. 

The  storm  had  blown  itself  out,  and  the  ocean 
shone  translucent  as  an  emerald.  Low-hanging 
overhead,  great  patches  of  fleecy  white,  torn 
from  a  heaped-up  cloud-bank  over  the  low-lying 
islands  of  the  eastern  horizon,  took  their  wild 
flight  across  the  deep  vault  of  sky  in  mad  pur- 
suit of  their  fellows  who  had  gone  before  and 
were  lost  in  a  shimmer  of  purple,  where  the  sea 
met  the  palm-grown  spits  of  the  western  main. 
The  cool,  pink  glow  upon  the  Sally's  starboard 
beam  filled  the  swell  of  the  top-sails  with  a  soft 
effulgence  which  partook  of  some  of  the  cool- 
ness and  freshness  of  the  air  that  drove  them. 
Far  down  upon  the  weather  bow,  first  a  blur, 
then  a  shadow  which  grew  from  gray  to  silver 
and  gold,  came  the  San  Isidro.  Jacquard 
sighted  her,  but  it  was  Bras-de-Fer  who  pro- 
claimed her  identity.  She  was  a  fine  new  gal- 
leon, spick  and  span  from  the  Tagus,  with  three 
tiers  of  guns,  and  masts  of  the  tallest.  Her 

177 


THE  LOVE  OF  MONSIEUR 

bright  new  fore-topsail  bore  the  arms  of  Spain, 
and  the  long  pennons  floating  from  her  trucks 
and  poles  proclaimed  the  high  condition  of  her 
passengers. 

Bras-de-Fer  cleared  his  ship  for  action  and 
called  his  men  aft. 

"There,  my  fine  fellows,"  he  cried,  "is  steel 
worthy  of  your  metal.  Let  it  not  be  said  that 
Saucy  Sally  takes  her  sustenance  from  the  weak 
and  cowardly  and  flirts  her  helm  to  the  power- 
ful. Yonder  is  your  prize.  She  has  thrice 
your  bulk  and  complement — three  gun  tiers  and 
twenty  score  of  men.  So  much  the  more  honor ! 
For  in  her  hold  are  gold  and  silver  bright  and 
new  minted  from  the  Spanish  treasury,  and 
wines  for  fat  priests,  which  shall  run  no  less 
smoothly  down  your  own  proper  throats.  Yon- 
der she  is.  Take  her.  Follow  where  I  shall 
lead  and  she  is  yours  for  the  asking." 

A  roar  of  approval  greeted  him,  and  the  man- 
ner in  which  the  rascals  sprang  to  their  places 
showed  that,  if  they  growled  at  his  discipline, 
they  were  ready  enough  for  this  opportunity. 

If  the  Spanish  vessel  had  aught  of  fear  of 
178 


BRAS-DE-FER  MAKES  A  CAPTURE 

the  English  brig,  she  did  not  show  it.  The  sound 
of  trumpets  had  proclaimed  that  she  had  called 
her  gun-crews,  but  she  shifted  her  helm  not  a 
quarter-point  of  the  compass  and  came 
steadily  on. 

Bras-de-Fer  lost  no  time  sending  the  English 
colors  aloft  and  firing  a  shot  from  his  forward 
guns,  as  a  test  of  distance.  This  brought  the 
Spaniard  speedily  to  himself,  for  he  shortened 
sail  and  came  upon  the  wind  to  keep  the 
weather-gauge.  When  he  had  reached  easy  gun- 
shot distance,  the  Sally  began  firing  a  gun  at  a 
time  with  great  deliberation,  and  so  excellent 
was  her  aim  that  few  of  these  failed  to  strike 
her  huge  adversary.  Cornbury,  who  had  taken 
a  particular  fancy  for  great-gun  exercise,  prac- 
tised upon  the  rigging  to  such  advantage  that 
he  brought  the  mizzen  topsail  and  cross-jack 
yard  in  a  clatter  about  the  ears  of  the  fellows 
upon  the  poop.  As  the  Frenchman  suspected, 
the  Spaniards '  gun-play  was  of  the  poorest,  and 
the  gh'ttering  hordes  of  harnessed  men  upon  his 
decks  availed  him  nothing.  Then  the  San  Isidro, 
with  true  concern,  and  thinking  to  end  the  mat- 

179 


THE  LOVE  OF  MONSIEUR 

ter,  eased  her  sheets  in  the  effort  to  close  with 
her  troublesome  antagonist.  Bras-de-Fer  kept 
all  fast,  and,  braving  a  merciless  broadside 
which  churned  the  ocean  in  a  hundred  gusts  of 
water  all  about  him,  went  jauntily  up  to  wind- 
ward with  no  other  loss  than  that  of  the  main 
top-gallant  yard,  the  wreck  of  which  was  quickly 
cut  away. 

For  two  hours  the  roar  of  the  battle  echoed 
down  the  distances.  The  Sally  presented  a  for- 
lorn appearance  with  her  main  topsail  torn  to 
shreds.  Two  guns  of  her  broadside  had  been 
dismounted  and  ten  of  her  men  had  been  killed 
and  injured ;  but  upon  the  Spaniard  the  wreck 
of  yards  and  spars  hung  festooned  with  the  use- 
less gear  upon  her  wounded  masts,  like  tangled 
mosses  or  creepers  upon  a  dying  oak. 

At  last  a  lucky  shot  of  the  unremitting  Corn- 
bury  carried  away  her  pintle,  rudder,  and  steer- 
ing-gear, so  that  she  lay  a  heavy  and  lifeless 
thing  upon  the  water.  Bras-de-Fer  called  for 
boarders,  and,  firing  a  broadside  pointblank,  lay 
the  Sally  aboard,  and  with  a  wild  cry  for  those 
who  dared  follow,  himself  sprang  for  the  mizzen 

180 


BRAS-DE-FER  MAKES  A  CAPTURE 

chains  of  his  adversary.  In  the  light  of  the 
dying  day,  like  a  hundred  wriggling,  dusky  cats, 
they  swarmed  over  the  sides  of  the  luckless 
San  Isidro,  springing  through  the  ports  and 
over  the  bulwarks  upon  the  deck  with  cries  that 
struck  terror  to  the  hearts  of  their  adversaries, 
many  of  whom  threw  down  their  weapons  and 
sprang  below.  A  few  men  in  breast-pieces,  who 
gave  back,  firing  a  desultory  volley,  made  a 
brief  stand  upon  the  forecastle,  from  which  they 
were  speedily  swept  down  into  the  head  and 
so  forward  upon  the  prow  and  into  the  sea. 

Bras-de-Fer  and  Cornbury  sprang  into  the 
after-passage.  Two  blanched  priests  fell  upon 
the  deck,  raining  their  jewels  like  hailstones  be- 
fore them  and  chattering  out  a  plea  for  mercy 
from  the  pirato.  Indeed,  Bras-de-Fer  looked 
not  unlike  the  pictures  of  the  most  desperate  of 
those  bloody  villains.  A  splinter-cut  upon  the 
head  had  bathed  him  liberally  with  blood,  and 
the  wild  light  of  exultation  glowed  from  eyes 
deep-set  and  dark  with  the  fumes  of  dust  and 
gunpowder.  His  coat  was  torn,  and  his  naked 
sword,  dimmed  and  lusterless,  moved  in  reckless 

181 


circles  with  a  careless  abandon  which  spoke  a 
meaning  not  to  be  misconstrued. 

The  priests  he  pushed  aside,  and  burst 
through  the  door  into  the  cabin.  It  was  almost 
dark,  but  the  glow  in  the  west  which  shone  in 
the  wide  stem  ports  shed  a  warm  light  upon  the 
backs  of  a  dozen  persons  who  had  taken  refuge 
there,  and  were  now  gazing  wide-eyed  upon  him. 
By  the  table  in  the  center  two  or  three  figures 
were  standing,  and  an  old  man  with  streaming 
gray  hair  drew  a  sword  most  pitifully  and  put 
himself  in  posture  of  defense.  Several  women 
thereupon  fell  jibbering  prone  upon  the  deck, 
and  two  figures  in  uniform  crouched  back  in  the 
shadow  of  the  bulkhead.  But  the  shedding  of 
blood  was  done.  Cornbury  took  the  weapon 
from  the  patriarch,  and  Bras-de-Fer,  seeing  no 
further  resistance,  bowed  in  his  best  manner 
and  begged  that  the  ladies  be  put  to  no  further 
inquietude.  It  was  then  for  the  first  time  that 
he  noticed  the  figure  of  one  of  them,  tall,  fair, 
and  of  a  strange  familiarity,  standing  firm  and 
impassive,  her  hand  upon  a  small  petronel,  or 
pistolet,  which  lay  upon  the  port  sill.  The 

182 


BRAS-DE-FER  MAKES  A  CAPTURE 

splendid  lines  of  the  neck,  the  imperious  turn  of 
the  head,  the  determination  in  the  firm  lines  of 
the  mouth,  which,  in  spite  of  the  ill-concealed 
terror  which  lurked  in  the  eyes  and  brows,  be- 
trayed a  purpose  to  defend  herself  to  the  last. 
Bras-de-Fer  stepped  back  a  pace  in  his  surprise 
to  look  again;  but  there  was  no  mistake.  He 
had  seen  that  same  figure,  that  same  poise  of 
the  head,  almost  that  same  look  out  of  the  eyes, 
and,  deep  as  he  had  steeped  his  mind  in  the 
things  which  brought  forgetfulness,  every  line 
of  it  was  written  upon  his  memory.  The  lady 
was  Mistress  Barbara  Clerke. 


CHAPTER  XI 
THE  ENEMY  IN  THE  HOUSE 

IN  the  first  flood  of  his  astonishment  the 
Frenchman  lost  countenance  and  fell  back 
upon  the  entrance  of  the  cabin.  He  forgot  the 
efficiency  of  his  disguise.  In  London  he  had 
worn  the  mustachio,  smooth  chin,  and  peruque ; 
and  the  deft  touches  of  poor  Vigot  had  given 
him  a  name  for  a  beau  which  no  art  of  the  tailor 
alone  could  have  bestowed.  All  of  these  were 
lacking  in  the  rough  garments  that  he  wore. 
When  last  my  lady  had  seen  him  it  had  been  in 
the  laces,  orders,  and  all  the  accouterments  of 
a  man  of  fashion,  as  befitted  his  station.  Now 
the  deep  shadows  which  the  fog  of  battle  had 
painted  under  his  brows  and  eyes  served  a  pur- 
pose as  effectual  as  the  growth  of  his  hair  and 
beard.  For  no  sign  passed  the  lady's  features, 
though  she  looked  fair  at  him.  A  momentary 
wonder  there  was,  as  the  Frenchman  paused; 

184 


THE  ENEMY  IN  THE  HOUSE 

then  a  mute  and  pallid  supplication.  Two  Span- 
ish women  fell  heavily  upon  their  knees  before 
him,  demeaning  themselves  in  every  conceivable 
manner  for  a  look  or  a  word  that  would  lull  their 
apprehension  and  alarm. 

It  was  not  until  then  that  Cornbury  saw 
Mistress  Clerke.  She  looked  at  him  blankly; 
but  he,  swearing  audibly,  fled  past  Bras-de-Fer 
to  the  door. 

"Bedad!"  he  muttered— "the  lady  in  the 
play!"  and  vanished  into  the  passage. 

Cast  upon  himself,  Bras-de-Fer  halted  and 
stammered  again.  He  was  daunted  by  that 
cold,  gray  eye,  and  discovered  an  inquietude  and 
trepidation  greater  than  he  had  felt  in  the  pres- 
ence of  a  company  of  pikemen.  He  wiped  his 
sword  and  thrust  it  into  its  scabbard  with  some- 
thing of  an  air  of  the  blusterer,  fumbled  at  the 
collar  at  his  throat,  and  with  a  gesture  tossed 
back  the  curls  from  his  brow,  finally  taking 
refuge  in  the  women  at  his  knees  from  that  chill 
glance  which  seemed  to  read  and  reproach  him. 
Then,  learning  that  his  identity  was  still  unre- 
vealed,  he  plucked  up  courage,  and,  releasing 

185  • 


THE  LOVE  OF  MONSIEUR 

himself,  coldly  but  with  a  certain  gallantry 
bowed  to  the  gray-haired  Spanish  lady  who  had 
been  the  most  timorous  in  her  embraces. 

"Your  fear,  senora,  pays  neither  me  nor  my 
ship  a  compliment,"  he  said,  coolly.  "Your 
San  Isidro  is  of  a  nation  that  of  late  has  proved 
itself  the  enemy  of  my  King  upon  the  sea.  I 
have  taken  her  in  honorable  battle,  and — " 

Here  Jacquard,  leering  wickedly,  the  personi- 
fication of  the  very  thing  the  women  most 
feared,  with  Yan  Gratz  and  a  dozen  pikes,  came 
rushing  in  at  the  door,  rendering  at  naught  his 
amiable  intentions,  for  the  women  fell  to 
screaming  again,  and  Mistress  Clerke  raised  her 
pistolet  to  her  breast,  it  seemed,  in  the  very  act 
of  firing.  With  a  hoarse  cry  Bras-de-Fer 
quelled  the  turmoil  and  sent  Jacquard  and  the 
men  growling  back  upon  the  deck;  but  it  was 
some  moments  before  the  qualms  of  the  women 
were  relieved  and  quiet  and  order  brought  out 
of  the  tumult. 

"Seiior,  what  you  say  may  be  true,"  said  the 
patriarch  who  had  sought  to  defend  himself, 
"but  not  all  who  bear  the  warrant  of  the  King 

186 


of  England  have  so  honest  a  notion  of  warfare 
in  these  waters.  What  proof  have  we  of  your 
integrity?" 

Bras-de-Fer  tossed  his  head  with  a  touch  of 
the  old  hauteur.  He  looked  past  the  gray- 
beard  to  the  casement  window,  where  the  last 
glimmer  of  the  western  light  was  burnishing  her 
hair  to  gold.  He  saw  only  the  fair  head  of  the 
woman  who  had  discredited  him,  scorned  and 
spurned  him  as  though  he  had  been  as  low  as 
the  very  thing  he  now  appeared.  The  lips  grew 
together  in  a  hard  line  that  had  in  it  a  touch 
of  cruelty. 

"It  is  not  the  custom  of  officers  of  the  King," 
he  said,  "to  give  proofs  of  integrity  to  prisoners 
of  war.  I  offer  no  proof  but  my  word.  I  shall 
do  with  you  as  I  see  fit  to  do. "  And  stationing 
two  pikemen  at  the  door  of  the  cabin,  he  went 
upon  the  deck,  filled  with  the  thought  which  al- 
most drove  from  his  mind  the  serious  business 
of  bringing  the  wreck  to  rights  and  mending  his 
own  affairs. 

There  was  much  to  be  done  before  the  Saily 
and  her  huge  captive  could  be  brought  out  into 

187 


THE  LOVE  OF  MONSIEUR 

the  safety  of  the  broad  ocean,  away  from  this 
dangerous  proximity  to  the  Havana.  But  Bras- 
de-Fer  set  himself  resolutely  to  the  task,  and, 
putting  beside  him  all  but  the  matter  in  hand, 
with  a  ir.ie,  seaman-like  sense  brought  order  out 
of  the  tangle  and  wreck  of  rigging  both  upon 
his  own  vessel  and  the  Spaniard. 

The  night  had  come  on  apace,  and  with  it  a 
rising  wind  which  ground  the  vessels  together 
in  a  manner  which  threatened  to  make  them  the 
more  vulnerable  to  the  assaults  of  the  sea.  The 
business  of  shifting  the  valuable  part  of  the 
cargo  was  going  swiftly  forward  under  great 
flares  and  ship's  lanterns,  which  were  stuck  in 
the  bulwarks  and  hung  from  the  chains  and 
rigging.  Bras-de-Fer,  a  black  shade  against 
the  lurid  glow,  stood  with  folded  arms  and 
downcast  eyes  at  a  commanding  eminence  upon 
the  poop,  watching  the  struggling,  dusky, 
gnomelike  figures  below  him.  A  hoarse  order 
rang  from  his  lips  now  and  then,  which  was 
echoed  down  into  the  bowels  of  his  own  vessel 
and  mingled  with  the  cries  and  oaths  of  the  fel- 
lows below.  Blocks  creaked  above,  and  the 

188 


THE  ENEMY  IN  THE  HOUSE 


swaying  bales  and  chests,  growing  for  a  mo- 
ment into  fiery  patches  against  the  sooty  dark- 
ness behind  them,  swept  over  the  bulwarks  and 
into  gray  shadow  again,  when  they  were  speed- 
ily borne  down  into  the  gaping  black  maws  of 
the  brig. 

A  pale  and  sibilant  presence  rustled  from  the 
shadows  of  the  mizzen-mast  behind  Bras-de- 
Fer.  Trembling  in  limb  and  more  pallid  even 
than  the  white  frock  that  enfolded  her,  Mistress 
Barbara,  in  a  ferment  of  uncertainty,  unat- 
tended and  unguarded,  had  crept  resolutely  and 
with  indomitable  courage  past  the  guard  at  the 
cabin  door  to  the  side  of  the  conqueror  of  San 
Isidro.  So  frail  and  slender  a  thing  she  was, 
emerging  pale  and  spectral  into  the  glare  of  the 
torches,  that  at  the  touch  of  her  halting  hand 
upon  his  arm  he  started  with  a  quick  intaking 
of  the  breath  and  sought  his  weapon.  But  when 
the  light  glowed  upon  the  brow  and  hair,  and  he 
saw,  his  hand  dropped  to  his  side  and  lie  bowed 
his  head  to  hide  his  features.  With  a  gesture  of 
annoyance  designed  to  serve  the  same  end,  he 
turned  away  towards  the  bulwarks. 

189 


THE  LOFE  OF  MONSIEUR 

"No,  no,"  she  began,  pleadingly;  "you  must 
hear  me.  I  am  English,  like  the  King  you  serve. 
At  your  hands  I  have  every  right  to  considera- 
tion." 

"You  sail  in  parlous  times,  madame,"  he  re- 
plied, coldly,  striving  to  disguise  his  voice. 

"Listen,  sir.  I  have  braved  danger  of  insult, 
and  worse,  to  come  hither  to-night.  But  there 
is  something — I  cannot  tell  what — which  says 
that  you  will  deal  fairly. ' ' 

"Your  confidence,  I  trust,  is  not  ill-placed," 
with  averted  head. 

"Your  manner  of  speaking  betrays  that  you 
are  French.  Nay,  do  not  turn  away,  monsieur. 
If  you  are  not  English,  you  serve  an  English 
master,  and  that  should  be  the  guarantee  of  all 
honesty. ' ' 

"Honesty  is  as  honesty  does,"  he  replied, 
turning  with  more  assurance  to  address  her. 
And  then,  "You  come  a  cool  dove  of  peace  in 
time  of  hot  war,  madame.  You  have  no  place 
in  such  a  scene  as  this. ' ' 

"Give  me  a  word,  sir,  and  I  will  go." 

His  gaze  was  fixed  blankly  upon  the  starless 
190 


THE  ENEMY  IN  THE  HOUSE 

vacancy.  *  'I  can  promise  nothing,  madame.  It 
is  the  fortune  of  war  ...  or  fate."  The  last 
he  murmured  half  below  his  breath. 

"You  will  take  us  to  Jamaica,  monsieur — not 
the  Tortugas — say  it  will  not  be  the  Tortugas !" 

"The  Tortugas  are  the  lair  of  the  piratos. 
If  I  am  such,  it  were  useless  further  to  converse. 
A  pirate  has  small  stomach  for  mercy — much 
for  requital. " 

Puzzled  somewhat,  she  grasped  her  wrap 
more  closely  and  drew  back  in  dismay.  "What 
do  you  mean?  That  you  will  have  no  pity, 
that — "  She  paused  as  she  saw  bis  bitter 
smile,  stepping  a  pace  back  from  him  in  horror. 

But  the  cruel  pleasure  he  had  in  torturing  her, 
at  the  sight  of  her  dread  and  fear  was  pleasure 
no  longer. 

' l  Madame,  forgive  me, ' '  he  said,  with  a  care- 
fully studied  frankness.  "I  have  only  said  I 
can  make  no  promises.  There  are  two  vessels, 
and  I  cannot  be  upon  both.  The  wind  even  now 
is  rising,  and  soon  we  must  be  parting  company. 
But  I  will  do  for  you  and  for  the  Spanish  lady, 
your  friend,  what  I  may;  and  now" — bending 

191 


THE  LOVE  OF  MONSIEUR 

over  her  with  all  his  old  grace — "now,  if 
madame  will  permit  me,  I  will  conduct  her  to 
the  cabin." 

The  speech,  the  very  words,  the  very  gesture, 
the  very  modulations  of  the  voice — where  had 
she  heard  them  before?  A  hurried  winging  of 
thought  brought  the  swaying  of  colored  lanterns 
— a  garden — a  graveled  walk — a  perfumed 
night;  and  while  she  still  looked  in  wonder,  a 
boisterous  puff  of  wind  flared  up  the  torch  on 
the  mast  and  tossed  his  wide-brimmed  hat  back 
upon  his  head  so  that  she  saw  a  scar  upon  his 
temple. 

She  peered  straight  forward  and  he  turned 
his  head  in  vain. 

"Good  God!  "she  cried.    "This!    Is  it  this?" 

It  was  too  late  to  continue  the  concealment, 
had  he  wished  to  do  so.  Then,  while  he  in  turn 
was  peering  at  her,  startled  at  the  lively  ex- 
pression of  horror  in  her  eyes — a  horror  at  his 
condition  and  plainly  not  at  himself — she  cov- 
ered her  face  with  her  fingers  and  bowed  her 
head  into  them,  not  shrinkingly  in  loathing  as 
he  might  have  expected  from  the  woman  he  had 

192 


THE  ENEMY  IN  THE  HOUSE 

left  in  London,  but  in  an  anguish,  as  of  penitence, 
the  impotence  of  a  child  at  the  reproof  of  an 
angry  parent,  in  contrition,  remorse,  or  humilia- 
tion. He  could  not  understand.  But,  straight- 
ening himself  with  a  stern  dignity,  which  sat 
well  upon  him,  he  replied  in  a  tone  so  low  that 
its  vibrant  note  barely  reached  her  ears. 

"This,  madame,  .  .  .  even  this." 

When  she  looked  up  at  him  again  it  was  with 
clear,  level,  unflinching  eyes. 

"Monsieur — "  she  began,  haltingly. 

But  he  held  up  his  hand.  "I  had  hoped  to 
have  withdrawn  ere  this  upon  my  own  ship  and 
to  have  left  you." 

"Thank  God  that  you  did  not.  I  would  atone 
to  you  for  many  things.  Could  you  have  de- 
serted us?  You  owe  me  a  greater  debt  of 
humiliation  and  abasement  than  you  can  ever 
hope  to  pay.  But  would  you  abandon  us  to  that 
crew  of  demons  below?  Ah,"  she  shuddered; 
*  'it  is  a  vengeance  worthy  of  the  name. ' ' 

"Madame,  the  sparks  of  such  hatred  as  that 
you  bear  for  me  are  best  unfed  to  flame.  You 
shall  be  adequately  guarded  upon  the  San 

193 


Isidro.     But  before  dawn  I  and  my  ship  will 
have  sailed — " 

''No,  no,"  she  broke  in.  "You  must  not. 
You  cannot  leave — " 

The  woman  in  her  rebelled  at  the  thought  that 
he  could  find  it  possible  to  do  what  he  promised. 

"Must  and  can  are  strong  words."  He 
smiled  coldly.  "There  is  no  must  or  can  upon 
the  San  Isidro  but  mine.  The  convenances  of 
St.  James's  Square  are  not  those  of  the  Span- 
ish Main,  madame. ' ' 

But  the  evil  she  had  wrought  in  this  man's 
life,  though  she  had  wrought  it  unconsciously, 
gave  her  a  new  humility.  She  had  done  and 
dared  much  already.  She  would  not  go  back. 

"I  pray  you,  monsieur,  in  the  name  of  that 
mother  you  once  swore  by — in  the  name  of  all 
the  things  you  hold  most  holy — I  pray  that  you 
will  heed  my  prayer.  Take,  at  least,  the  Seno- 
rita  de  Batteville  upon  your  vessel.  Take  us 
from  the  faces  of  the  men  at  the  cabin  door  who 
leer  and  grin  at  us  with  a  too  horrid  import." 

A  frown  crossed  the  Frenchman's  features. 

"These  men  will  be  upon  the  Saucy  Sally." 
194 


"But  you,  monsieur,  will  be  there — you  will 
not  permit — " 

' '  Madame  has  a  too  generous  confidence  in  my 
competency. ' ' 

1 '  Ah,  it  is  for  you  to  be  generous.  A  man  who 
can  win  so  great  a  victory  can  afford  to  be 
kind."  She  put  her  hands  forward  in  the  act 
of  supplication,  and  in  doing  so  the  wrap  slipped 
from  the  shoulder  and  arm  it  had  so  scrupu- 
lously hidden.  A  cloth,  dull  and  blurred  with 
red,  was  wrapped  half-way  between  the  elbow 
and  the  shoulder.  When  he  saw  that  dark  patch, 
his  cool  composure  fell  from  him  like  a  mantle 
and  he  bent  forward  eagerly,  all  his  perceptions 
aquiver  with  sensibility. 

* '  Sainte  Vierge ! "  he  whispered.  * '  How  came 
you  by  that  ? ' ' 

"It  is  nothing,"  she  said,  drawing  back  at 
his  ardor.  "A  scratch  of  broken  glass.  That 
is  all." 

He  bent  to  the  deck  for  the  erring  silk.  "I 
did  not  know, ' '  he  stammered,  his  voice  mellow 
with  sympathy.  "I  did  not  know.  Forgive 
me,  madame." 

195 


THE  LOVE  OF  MONSIEUR 

11  There  is  nothing  to  forgive.  It  is  the 
fortune  of  war. ' ' 

"Is  it  painful?  I  am  something  of  a  chi- 
rurgeon.  Let  me — ' '  He  looked  her  in  the  face, 
and  then  drew  back  in  a  mingling  of  confusion 
and  pride. 

"It  is  nothing,  I  tell  you,"  she  broke  in,  with 
a  stamp  of  the  foot.  ' '  Nothing.  I  do  not  even 
feel  it. ' '  And  when  she  had  enwrapped  it  again 
she  lowered  her  voice  until  it  trembled  with  the 
earnestness  of  her  entreaty.  "Have  pity,  mon- 
sieur— pity ! '  ' 

The  Frenchman  had  turned  away  and  was 
looking  out  into  the  moonless  night.  The  slen- 
der white  hand  stole  faltering  forward  until  it 
rested  upon  the  coarse  sleeve  of  his  coat. 

"Take  me  with  you,  monsieur.  Take  me 
aboard  the  Saucy  Sally." 

And  still  looking  out  to  sea,  he  replied,  in  a 
voice  gruff  and  rugged,  which  did  not  avail  to 
hide  a  generous  courtesy  beneath : 

"It  shall  be  as  you  wish,  madame.  Bid  the 
senorita  prepare  at  once." 

196 


THE  ENEMY  IN  THE  HOUSE 

And  in  a  moment,  when  he  looked  again,  she 
was  gone. 

How  was  it  that  the  thread  of  this  woman's 
life  had  become  entangled  again  with  his? 
Could  it  be  that  the  hand  which  controlled  his 
destiny  had  wrought  these  miracles  in  his 
strange  career  in  a  mere  sport  or  purposeless 
plan?  Could  it  be  that,  two  grains  of  sand 
afloat  on  the  winds  of  life 's  desert,  they  had  met, 
parted,  and  come  together  again?  In  the  in- 
finity of  wide  ocean  he  had  gone  adrift  upon  the 
tide  of  another  life  with  nothing  but  his  mem- 
ories to  bind  him  to  the  old.  But  sure  as  metal 
to  its  loadstone  his  vessel  had  been  driven,  in 
spite  of  wind  and  the  raging  of  the  sea,  with  an 
unerring  certainty  into  the  very  path  of  the  San 
Isidro.  How  was  she,  the  toast  of  London,  the 
bright  particular  planet  in  that  bright  firma- 
ment, divested  of  all  the  bright  luster  of  her 
constellation,  alone  and  all  but  friendless,  adrift 
in  these  wild  waters  ?  How  came  this  gay  para- 
dise bird,  despoiled  of  its  plumage,  in  so  foreign 
a  clime?  Why  had  she  left  London?  Had  some 
convulsion  of  her  starry  sky  cast  her  down  from 

197 


THE  LOVE  OF  MONSIEUR 

her  high  seat?  Where  was  Captain  Ferrers? 
Were  they  become  estranged  ?  What  had  come 
of  the  papers  ?  The  enigma  grew  in  complexity. 
Her  speech  had  puzzled  him.  Why  had  she  been 
thankful  to  have  found  him?  Was  it  the  joy  of 
learning  that  her  captor  was  one  who  had  not 
sunk  so  low  that  he  could  do  the  vile  deeds  she 
had  feared  of  him?  What  atonement  was  it  she 
offered?  And  for  what?  His  heart  leaped 
wildly,  only  to  shrink  again  to  a  dull,  drowsy 
beat.  What  did  it  mean?  Nothing,  or  any- 
thing; conciliation,  mock  humility — a  sop  to 
Cerberus.  Bah!  He  was  done  with  hope. 
There,  a  shadow  of  disconsolation,  he  stood, 
fixed  and  nerveless,  struggling  against  the  soft, 
cajoling  hand-maidens  of  Virtue — Gentleness, 
Beauty,  Reverence,  Love — personified  in  this 
woman,  whom,  try  as  he  might,  he  could  not 
pluck  from  his  life. 

The  pale  light  of  dawn  found  him  where  he 
watched  until  the  transshipping  was  done,  and 
the  cases  of  coin,  the  silks  and  plate,  were 
stowed  safely  below.  The  fitful  wind,  which  had 
tossed  up  a  restless  sea,  was  now  become  so 

198 


THE  ENEMY  IN  THE  HOUSE 


boisterous  that  the  grappling  irons  were  cast 
off  and  the  Saucy  Solly  drifted  away  from  the 
Spaniard  and  hung  with  a  backed  mainsail  a 
half-cable's  length  under  her  lee.  The  prison- 
ers of  the  San  Isidro  had  been  carefully  secured 
below  and  a  prize  crew  of  Jacquard,  Cornbury, 
and  thirty  men  had  been  placed  upon  her  to 
bring  the  wreck  into  port.  She  was  sound 
enough  below.  But  the  rigging,  in  spite  of  all 
their  endeavors,  was  still  a  mere  tangle  of  use- 
less gearing.  The  sails  drew  on  the  jury-masts, 
and  together,  with  gathering  impetus,  the  two 
vessels  moved  slowly  out  into  the  growing  light 
of  the  East. 

The  wisdom  of  the  efforts  of  Bras-de-Fer  in 
removing  to  the  handier  vessel  the  most  movable 
of  the  priceless  freight  was  soon  apparent.  For 
there,  dull  patches  upon  the  southern  sky,  were 
the  sails  of  two  large  vessels  bearing  smartly 
up  under  the  stress  of  the  fine  westerly  wind. 
Hoarse  curses  rang  forth,  and  fists  were  wildly 
brandished  towards  the  approaching  ships, 
which,  as  it  was  plainly  to  be  seen,  were  Span- 
ish men-of-war,  aroused  to  alertness  by  the  can- 

199 


THE  LOVE  OF  MONSIEUR 

nonading  at  sunset  and  the  night-long  flares.  It 
would  have  been  hopeless  for  Bras-de-Fer  to 
try  and  bring  both  vessels  clear  away,  for  the 
unwieldly  prize  rolled  heavily  in  the  rising  swell 
and  made  scarce  a  bubble  under  the  forefoot. 
And  in  her  damaged  condition,  with  crippled 
spars  and  many  guns  out  of  service,  the  Sally 
could  hardly  hope  to  repeat  her  success  over  the 
San  Isidro  with  two  war  vessels  fresh  from  the 
Havana.  The  weight  of  argument  lay  upon  the 
side  of  his  defeat  with  the  loss  of  all  that  he  had 
gained.  There  were  two  alternatives — to  re- 
main with  the  San  Isidro  and  fight  it  out  to  the 
last,  or  take  his  prize  crew  aboard  the  Sally  and 
abandon  the  San  Isidro  and  her  prisoners  to 
her  compatriots. 

Bras-de-Fer  chose  the  latter.  There  was  only 
time  to  effect  the  change.  He  called  Jacquard 
and  his  master-at-arms  and  the  prize  crew 
aboard  their  own  vessel,  and,  clapping  all  sail 
upon  the  Saucy  Sally  that  she  could  carry  in 
safety,  sailed  clear  away  and  abandoned  the 
huge  hulk  to  the  approaching  enemy. 


200 


CHAPTER  XH 
PRISONER  AND  CAPTOR 

WHEN  the  heels  of  the  Sally  had  put  so* 
great  a  distance  between  herself  and' 
her  pursuers  that  there  was  nothing  to  fear  of 
their  overhauling  her,  Bras-de-Fer  went  below 
to  the  cabin.  Exhausted  by  the  events  of  the 
night,  leaning  listlessly  against  the  sill  of  the 
stem-port,  was  Mistress  Clerke,  her  lids  droop- 
ing with  weariness  as  she  struggled  against 
tired  nature  to  keep  her  lone  vigil.  Her  eyes 
started  wide  at  the  sound  of  his  footsteps.  She 
struggled  to  her  feet  and  stood,  her  face  pallid 
and  drawn,  in  the  cold,  garish  light  of  the  morn- 
ing. She  scanned  him  eagerly,  peering  fearfully 
into  his  face  for  any  portentous  sign.  The  dust 
of  battle  was  still  streaked  upon  it,  and  the 
shadows  under  the  brows  which  had  made  his 
countenance  forbidding  in  the  mad  flush  of  war 
upon  the  San  Isidro  now  only  gave  the  shadows  s 

201 


THE  LOVE  OF  MONSIEUR 

a  darker  depth  of  settled  melancholy.  There 
was  a  fierceness  and  wildness,  too,  but  it  was 
distant,  hidden,  and  self-contained ;  at  bay,  only 
with  nothing  of  aggressiveness  for  immediate 
apprehension  or  alarm.  Instead,  there  was  a 
reserved  dignity  and  aloofness  which  spoke  of 
a  nice  sense  of  a  delicate  situation.  He  made  no 
move  to  draw  near  her,  but  stood  in  the  narrow 
cabin  door,  hat  in  hand. 

"Madame  is  weary!"  he  said.  "If  you  will 
permit — "  And  then  he  searched  the  cabin, 
a  question  in  his  eyes. 

"The  senorita,  madame?"  he  asked. 

Mistress  Clerke  sighed  wearily.  ' '  I  am  alone, 
monsieur.  She  came  frozen  with  terror — and 
fled  again — " 

"You  alone!" 

* '  I  can  only  crave  your  pity. ' ' 

He  peered  around  at  the  dingy  surroundings. 
"I  am  bereaved,  madame.  This  cabin  is  not  the 
San  Isidro.  'Twere  better,  more  cleanly.  I  am 
sorry.  I  had  come  to  order  it  to  your  comfort. 
See.  I  have  brought  your  bedding  and  belong- 
ings from  the  San  Isidro.  In  a  moment,  if  you 

202 


will  permit,  I  can  do  very  much  to  better  your 
condition." 

A  spark  of  gratitude  at  this  evidence  of  his 
kindly  disposition  gleamed  in  her  eyes  a  mo- 
ment and  she  signed  an  acquiescence.  The 
Frenchman  conducted  her  to  the  half -deck,  while 
two  negroes  set  busily  about  the  place,  removing 
his  and  Cornbury  's  effects  and  making  it  sweet 
and  clean  for  its  gentle  tenant. 

The  Frenchman  would  have  left  her,  but 
Mistress  Barbara  stopped  him  at  the  cabin  door. 

"I  cannot  thank  you,  monsieur.  To  do  so 
pays  no  jot  of  my  great  obligation,  which  every 
moment  becomes  greater." 

He  bowed  and  would  have  passed  out.  "You 
owe  me  nothing  but  silence,  madame,"  he  said, 
coldly. 

"And  that  I  cannot  pay,"  she  cried.  "Oh, 
why  will  you  not  listen  to  me,  monsieur?  Have 
you  no  kindness  ? ' ' 

"I  have  done  what  small  service  I  could, 
madame.  If  I  owe  you  more — " 

She  clenched  her  small  hands  together,  as 
though  in  pain.  "Ah,  you  do  not  understand. 

203 


THE  LOVE  OF  MONSIEUR 

Why  will  you  not  seel  It  is  not  that.  I  wish 
you  to  do  me  justice. ' ' 

"  Madame,  justice  and  I  are  many  miles 
asunder.  I  have  no  indulgent  memory.  It  is 
best  that  there  should  be  no  talk  of  what  has 
been.  Only  what  is  and  what  is  to  be  has  any 
power  to  open  my  ears  or  my  lips.  And  so,  if 
you  will  permit  me, ' '  and  once  more  he  made  the 
motion  to  withdraw. 

"It  is  the  present  and  the  future,  Monsieur  le 
Chevalier,"  she  began.  But  at  the  sound  of 
that  name  he  turned  abruptly  towards  her, 
frowning  darkly. 

"It  cannot  be,  madame,"  he  cried,  with  a 
farusqueness  which  frightened  her.  "I  have  no 
name  but  Bras-de-Fer  aboard  this  ship.  Please 
address  your  needs  to  him. ' ' 

She  recoiled  in  dismay  in  the  corner  of  the 
bulkhead  to  listen  to  the  tramp  of  his  heavy 
.sea-boots  down  the  passage.  For  the  first  time 
she  feared  him.  She  could  not  know  that  it  was 
the  sight  of  her  face  and  of  something  new  he 
saw  there  which  raised  a  doubt  that  had  entered, 
a  canker,  into  his  mind.  She  could  not  know 

204 


what  a  struggle  it  was  costing  him  and  at  what 
pains  he  took  refuge  in  the  silence  he  demanded. 
His  brutality  was  but  the  sudden  outward  mani- 
festation of  this  battle,  which,  should  it  not  take 
one  side,  must  assuredly  take  the  other.  He  had 
decided.  Nothing  should  turn  the  iron  helm  of 
his  will.  But  as  he  sought  the  deck,  hot  memory 
poured  over  him  in  a  flood.  He  recalled  the 
times  she  had  tossed  her  head  at  him,  even  be- 
fore the  incident  of  the  coach.  That,  tooy  he  re- 
membered, even  with  a  sense  of  amusement. 
The  coranto!  and  how  he  had  sought  to  patch 
and  mend  his  wounded  pride  by  fruitlessly 
assailing  hers,  battering  abortively  at  the  cita- 
del of  the  heart  he  could  never  hope  to  win. 
Ferrers!  The  precious  papers  he  had  had  for 
a  sweet  half -hour  in  his  bosom  and  had  thrown 
away!  Where  had  Ferrers  hidden  them  from 
her!  The  priceless  heritage  with  which  he 
could  have  daunted  this  woman-enemy  of  his 
whom  he  had  loved  and  hated  at  the  same  time- 
and  from  whom  he  had  received  only  scorn  and 
misprision.  Could  he  refuse  her  now  that  she 
was  a  helpless  captive,  weak,  frail,  and  un~ 

205 


THE  LOVE  OF  MONSIEUR 

friended  among  a  crew  of  rascals  who  stood  at 
nothing  and  from  whom  only  himself  could  pre- 
serve her?  Had  he  not  secretly  welcomed  her 
wish  last  night  to  be  carried  aboard  the  Saucy 
Sally,  and  the  contingency  which  made  it  im- 
possible for  her  to  be  returned  to  the  San 
Isidrof  Was  he  not  conscious  of  a  sense  of 
guilt  that  he  had  not  found  an  opportunity  to 
send  her  back  to  safety  ?  She  was  completely  in 
his  power.  His  heart  sang  high;  but  the  cord 
was  frayed,  and  the  note  rang  false.  It  was  im- 
possible; no  matter  how  deeply  he  had  seared 
his  soul,  no  man  born  as  he  had  been  born  could 
refuse  the  mute  appeal  of  a  woman  in  distress. 
He  thought  of  his  dishonor  the  night  he  had 
come  upon  the  Saucy  Sally,  when  in  a  fury 
against  the  fortune  which  still  denied  him  he 
had  railed,  madly,  impotently,  against  all  virtue, 
and  in  a  passion  of  vengefulness  sunk  so  low 
that  he  had  loudly  threatened,  like  a  common 
street  ruffian  and  card-room  bully,  this  woman, 
whom — God  help  him ! — he  loved  and  would  love 
throughout  all  time.  The  depth  of  his  degrada- 
tion cumbered  him  about,  remorse  fell  upon  him, 

206 


PRISONER  AND  CAPTOR 

and  anguish  wrung  his  heart  from  his  body  as 
nothing — not  even  the  loss  of  the  papers — had 
done. 

The  old  life  in  London,  with  its  gaming,  its 
carousing  and  gallantry — he  could  see  it  all 
through  new  eyes,  washed  clean  and  clear  by  the 
purging  winds  and  storms  of  heaven.  Himself 
he  marked  from  a  great  moral  distance,  almost 
as  though  from  another  planet — the  silly, 
spoiled  child  of  folly  that  he  had  been.  And  it 
was  this  impotent  creature  who  had  cried  out 
against  his  fate,  which,  with  a  rare  honesty,  had 
only  lowered  him  from  the  high  estate  to  which 
he  had  won,  in  accordance  with  the  same  inex- 
orable regulations  of  the  human  law  which  had 
raised  him  there.  The  figures  in  that  London 
life  passed  before  him  like  a  row  of  tawdry 
puppets,  serving  the  same  martyrdom  to  folly 
as  himself,  at  the  expense  of  love,  charity,  and 
all  true  virtue.  Soft  thinking  for  a  powder- 
blackened,  bearded  flibustier,  with  hands  even 
yet  red  from  his  last  depredation!  He  smiled 
supinely  to  himself,  that  he  could  think  thus  of 
the  things  that  so  recently  had  been  his  very 

207 


THE  LOVE  OF  MONSIEUR 

existence.  In  that  London  life,  amid  that 
throng  of  tinsel  goddesses,  one  figure  stood  emi- 
nent and  conspicuous.  It  was  that  of  the  woman 
who  in  all  companies  of  men  and  women  held 
her  fame  so  fair  that,  whatever  their  reputations 
for  high  deeds  or  ignoble  vices,  none  was  so 
.great  as  she.  In  that  great  court  where  virtue 
was  a  gem  of  so  little  worth  that  it  was  kept  hid 
and  secret,  Mistress  Barbara  had  worn  it 
openly,  broadly,  high  upon  her  brow,  with  a 
rare  pride,  as  the  most  priceless  of  her  inesti- 
mable jewels. 

He  loved  her.  Flaunted,  scorned,  despised, 
he  loved  her  the  more.  The  past  was  engulfed 
and  vanquished.  He  only  saw  her  an  actuality 
of  the  flesh  here  aboard  his  very  ship — the  dove 
in  the  eagle 's  nest,  whom  every  law  and  impulse, 
human  and  divine,  impelled  him  to  succor  and 
protect.  The  vibrant  voice,  the  gentle  touch, 
the  soft  perfume  of  her  presence  provoked  the 
<covetous  senses  and  stole  away  his  will.  It  was 
with  mingled  feelings  of  apprehension  and 
:alarm  that  he  discovered  to  himself  the  persist- 
ency of  his  attachment.  He  acknowledged  it 

208 


PRISONER  AND  CAPTOR 

only  when  he  learned  that  nothing  else  was  pos- 
sible. And  when  that  was  done  he  planned  and 
resolved  again,  with  a  new  fervency  of  deter- 
mination. The  future  should  atone.  She  had 
thought  him  a  wild,  reckless  gallant,  who  had 
won  his  way  and  continued  to  win — by  his  wits 
— a  worthless  creature  who  consorted  with  the 
worst  men  of  the  court  and  presented  in  the 
world  the  characteristics  she  most  despised. 
How  he  hated  the  thing  that  he  had  been,  the 
mask  that  he  had  worn!  If  she  had  cared,  she 
could  have  seen,  she  would  have  learned  that  he 
was  not  all  that  she  had  thought  him.  The  reck- 
less gallant  was  become  a  rough  boucanier  and 
pirato.  She  had  seen  him  in  the  red  fever  of 
battle.  Eh  bien.  He  would  not  undeceive  her. 
Red-handed  pirato  he  would  remain.  No 
glimpse  should  she  have  of  the  struggle  beneath. 
He  would  set  her  safe  ashore  at  Port  Royal.  He 
would  sail  away  from  her  forever,  and  she 
should  enjoy  her  fortune.  That  was  the  price 
that  he  would  pay. 

None  the  less,  he  found  the  occasion  to  wash 
away  the  stains  of  battle,  and  in  fresh  linen  and 

209 


THE  LOVE  OF  MONSIEUR 

hose  became  less  offensive  to  the  sight.  When 
he  sought  the  deck  there  was  no  sign  of  a 
vessel  upon  any  side.  Cornbury  he  found  at  the 
after-hatch,  puffing  upon  a  pipe. 

'  *  Ochone,  dear  Iron  Arm, ' '  the  Irishman  be- 
gan, "ye 're  the  anomalous  figure  of  a  pirato,  to 
be  sure.  One  minute  your  form  is  painted 
broad  upon  the  horizon  with  a  cutlass  in  your 
teeth,  an'  glistenin'  pikes  in  both  your  fists.  I' 
the  next  ye 're  playin'  the  hero  part  of  'Vartue 
in  Distress.'  " 

Bras-der-Fer  smiled. 

"Oh,  ye  may  laugh.  But  in  truth  'tis  all 
most  irregular.  Ye  violate  every  tradition  of 
the  thrade.  By  the  laws,  ye 're  no  dacent  fig- 
ure of  a  swashbuckler  at  all  at  all. ' ' 

"What  would  ye  have  then,  mon  ami?" 

"Ah,  he's  clean  daffy!  What  would  I  have? 
Bah!  ye  know  my  misliking  for  the  sex,  and 
ye  ask  me  what  would  I  have  ?  Egad !  a  walk 
on  the  plank,  and  a  little  dance  on  nothing  would 
not  be  amiss  for  her.  'Tis  the  simplest  thing 
in  the  world.  The  least  bit  of  a  rope,  three  ten- 
pound  shot,  a  shove  of  the  arm,  and  spsh!  your 

210 


PRISONER  AND  CAPTOR 

troubles  are  sunk  in  a  mile  of  sea.  To  England, 
a  treaty  of  peace  with  Captain  Ferrers,  and, 
voild!  ye 're  a  French  viscount,  with  a  fortune 
beyond  the  dreams  of  avarice,  and  an  out-at- 
the-knees-and-elbows  of  an  Irishman  to  help  ye 
spend  it.  Man,  'tis  a  squanderin'  waste  of  op- 
portunity." He  growled,  and  puifed  upon  his 
pipe,  sending  crabbed,  sour  glances  at  his 
captain. 

"Oh,  ye  may  laugh.  Instead  of  this,  what  do 
ye  do  ?  Ye  have  my  lady  aboard  the  ship  to  the 
pervarsion  of  all  dacent  piratical  society,  give 
her  my  bed  and  board,  and  my  particular  niggar 
for  waiting-man.  Ye  're  sowin'  the  seeds  of  ripe 
mutiny,  me  handsome  picaroon,  an'  a  red- 
headed Irishman  will  be  there  to  aid  in  the 
blossomin'." 

"Nay,  Cornbury,"  said  Bras-de-Fer.  "We 
do  but  go  a  short  cruise  to  Port  Royal.  I  Ve  set 
my  mind  on  seeing  my  lady  safe  in  English 
hands. ' ' 

"There  ye  are,"  fumed  the  Irishman. 
"There  ye  are!  Ye '11  kill  the  golden  goose. 
Ye '11  jeopardize  your  callin'  again,  all  for  that 

211 


same  finical  bundle  of  superficialities.  Slapped 
once  in  the  face,  ye  turn  your  cheek  with  new 
avidity  for  more.  Zoons !  I  Ve  no  patience  with 
such  shilly-shallyin'."  And,  as  Bras-de-Fer 
was  silent,  he  sent  forth  a  quick  succession  of 
smoke  puffs  which  chased  madly  down  the  wind. 

"Ask  Jacquard, ' '  he  growled  again ; ' 'he  likes 
it  no  more  than  I.  There 's  a  mutterin f  forward. 
'Tis  discipline — the  lack  of  drink  and  an  un- 
equal partitionin'  of  the  spoils — " 

"Pardieu!"  interrupted  the  Frenchman  at 
last,  his  eyes  flashing  in  a  fury.  "Do  they 
growl?  Let  them  do  it  in  the  forecastle.  No 
man,  no,  not  even  you,  shall  beard  me  on  my 
quarter-deck ! ' ' 

Cornbury  did  not  arise  or  show  the  least  sign 
of  a  changed  countenance.  "Ask  Jacquard," 
he  repeated  again. 

Bras-de-Fer  swung  hotly  on  his  heel  and  went 
below. 


CHAPTER 
MONSIEUR  LEARNS  SOMETHING 

WHEN  the  night  had  fallen  again,  Mis- 
tress Barbara  Clerke  went  timorously 
upon  the  deck  in  search  of  Bras-de-Fer.  His 
insensibility  and  brutality  in  turning  away  from 
her  when  she  would  have  spoken  to  him  in  the 
cabin  had  tried  her  to  the  last  extremity.  But 
the  thought  of  the  duty  she  owed  herself  and 
him  stifled  the  impulses  of  her  spirit.  And  her 
pride,  rebellious  and  insensate  that  the  man  who 
had  so  frankly  sacrificed  himself  in  London 
should  care  so  little  here,  impelled  her  inevi- 
tably. Her  fear  of  him  was  short-lived.  In  spite 
of  all  she  knew  to  his  discredit  and  the  bloody 
guise  in  which  she  had  found  him,  that  look  of 
humiliation  and  distress  which  she  had  brought 
into  his  face  a  night  so  long  ago  remained  in- 
effaceably  written  upon  her  memory.  It  spoke 

213 


THE  LOVE  OF  MONSIEUR 

better  than  all  the  proofs  she  had  discovered  of 
the  wrong  that  had  been  done  him. 

She  found  him,  by  the  light  of  a  lantern,  di- 
recting the  repair  of  a  gun-carriage  upon  the 
poop.  She  addressed  him  timidly. 

"Monsieur — er — Bras-de-Fer — "  she  began. 

He  raised  his  head  and  turned  abruptly  to- 
wards her,  and  the  sense  of  security  from  re- 
buke she  had  counted  upon,  in  the  presence  of 
the  men,  fled  away  at  the  sight  of  his  frowning 
countenance. 

"What  are  you  doing  here,  madame?"  he 
said,  harshly.  "The  deck  is  no  place  for  you. 
Go  below  at  once  or — " 

But  with  never  a  glance  at  the  grinning  fel- 
lows at  her  elbow,  she  looked  him  steadily  in  the 
eyes  as  she  replied,  with  a  will  and  spirit  which 
surprised  even  herself : 

"I  shall  not,  monsieur."  The  voice  was  low 
and  even.  But  the  small  hands  were  clenched, 
her  head  was  tossed  a  little  upon  one  side,  and 
every  line  of  her  lithe  body,  which  swung  rhyth- 
mically to  the  motion  of  the  sliding  deck,  spoke 
of  invincible  courage  and  determination.  Bras- 

214 


MONSIEUR    LEARNS   SOMETHING 

de-Fer  scowled  darkly  a  moment,  and  even  took 
a  step  in  her  direction,  but  she  stood  undaunted. 
With  an  assumption  of  carelessness  he  waved 
his  hands,  and  presently  they  were  alone. 

"I  thank  you  for  that  condescension,"  she 
said  at  last. 

' '  Speak  your  will  quickly,  madame.  I  am  in  a 
press  of  business." 

1  'You  must  hear  me  to  the  end,  monsieur.  No 
matter  what — " 

"Ma  foi,  madame,"  he  sneered.  "Is  it  you 
who  command  the  ship  or  I?  If  there  is  aught 
you  require,  say  on.  If  not,  you  will  go  below 
at  once. ' ' 

' l  You  must  hear  me,  monsieur. ' ' 

"Madame" — he  scowled  and  spoke  with  a 
studied  brutality — "is  it  not  enough  that  I  have 
done  your  will  once  ?  I  am  taking  you  to  safety. 
Try  me  not  too  far  or — you  may  find  reason  to 
regret  your  presumption. ' '  And  as  she  shrank 
a  little  away  from  him:  "What  have  you  to  ex- 
pect from  me  ?  By  what  right  do  you  seek  me  or 
ask  me  any  favor  ? ' ' 

215 


THE  LOVE  OF  MONSIEUR 

"By  the  right  of  a  gentle  birth.  If  not  by 
that,  by  the  right  of  a  decent  humanity. ' ' 

He  laughed  with  an  assumption  of  coarse- 
ness which  sat  strangely  upon  him. 

"And  have  you  no  fear,  Mistress  Clerke? 
Does  your  instinct  teach  you  no  tremor?"  He 
moved  a  pace  nearer  and  glanced  down  upon 
her.  "Do  you  not  see,  proud  woman?  Have 
you  no  trembling,  no  terror  at  the  sight  of  me  ? 
Am  I  so  gentle,  so  tractable,  so  ingenuous  that 
you  can  defy  me  with  impunity?  You  are  in  my 
power.  There  is  no  one  to  say  me  nay.  What 
is  there  to  prevent  me  doing  with  you  as  I  will  ? ' ' 

She  had  not  moved  back  from  him  the 
distance  of  a  pace.  And  it  was  his  eye  that  first 
fell  before  hers. 

"You  will  doubtless  do  your  will,"  she  said, 
evenly.  "But  I  cannot  find  it  in  my  heart  to 
fear  you,  monsieur. ' '  And  the  quietude  of  her 
reliance  paled  his  mock  brutality  into  a  mere 
silly  effusiveness. 

"At  the  sight  of  you,  monsieur,"  she  contin- 
ued, "there  is  little  room  for  fear  in  my  breast. 
No,  even  if  you  should  strike  me  down  here  upon 

216 


MONSIEUR   LEARNS   SOMETHING 


this  foreign,  friendless  deck,  I  believe  that  I 
could  raise  no  hand  or  voice  in  protest." 

"Madame!"  he  said. 

"It  is  true.  You  are  powerless  to  offend. 
Why,  your  threats  are  mere  empty  vaunts,  mon- 
sieur !  Even  in  this  dusky  light  I  can  see  it  in 
your  eyes.  You  are  clean  of  evil  intent  as  a 
babe  unborn. '  ' 

Bras-de-Fer  bowed  his  head. 

"Oh,  let  me  right  the  great  wrong  that  has 
been  done — " 

"It  is  impossible — " 

"When  you  learn —  Listen,  oh,  listen,  mon- 
sieur!" she  cried,  passionately,  as  he  moved 
away.  "When  you  learn  that  I  have  left  Lon- 
don for  you;  that  I  have  given  up  all  I  pos- 
sessed that  a  great  wrong  might  be  righted,  a 
great  martyrdom  ended,  you  will  no  longer  re- 
fuse me. ' '  The  words  came  tumbling  forth  any 
way  from  her  lips  in  the  mad  haste  that  he 
might  hear  before  he  was  gone  out  of  earshot. 

And  as  he  paused  to  listen,  fearfully:  "Yes, 
yes,  monsieur,  I  have  learned,"  she  cried  again. 
"I  know.  It  is  yours — it  is  all  yours." 

217 


THE  LOVE  OF  MONSIEUR 

Bras-de-Fer  turned  his  body  towards  her 
again,  but  as  he  faced  her  his  head  was  still 
bowed  in  his  shoulders  and  she  could  see  no 
other  sign  of  any  emotion.  The  revelation  that 
he  had  longed  for,  and  feared  because  he  longed 
for  it  so  much,  was  made.  The  secret  was  out. 
However  he  planned  and  whatever  guise  of  un- 
friendliness he  took,  the  relations  between  him- 
self and  this  woman  were  changed  thencefor- 
ward. The  struggle  for  the  mastery  was  fierce 
as  it  was  brief.  And  in  that  moment,  no  matter 
how  changed  his  duty  to  himself  and  her,  he 
resolved  that  she  should  have  no  sign  of  it. 
When  he  raised  his  head  again  to  the  lantern- 
light  all  trace  of  the  storm  that  had  passed  over 
his  spirit  was  gone. 

* '  It  is  too  late,  madame, ' '  he  muttered.  * '  Too 
late.  I  stand  by  the  cast  of  the  die. ' ' 

1  'You  cannot  know  what  you  say,  monsieur. 
If  the  estates  do  not  go  to  you,  they  will  go  to 
no  one.  It  is  the  end  of  the  house  of  De  Bresac. 
Your  fortune,  your  titles,  your  honors — " 

"And  my  good  name?"  he  asked,  coldly. 
218 


MONSIEUR    LEARNS    SOMETHING 

"Who  will  restore  to  me  my  good  name?  No. 
I  shall  not  return  to  London,  madame." 

"You  must  return,"  she  broke  in,  wildly.  "It 
is  a  sacred  duty.  If  not  for  yourself,  for  the 
blood  that  runs  in  our  veins." 

The  phrase  sang  sweet  in  his  ears.  But  he 
gave  no  sign. 

"Blood  is  thicker  than  water,  but  it  seeks  its 
level  as  surely.  I  have  made  my  bed;  I  shall 
sleep  no  less  soundly  because  it  is  a  rough  one." 

She  struggled  to  contain  the  violence  of  her 
emotion.  "No,  no,  it  cannot  be,  it  must  not  be. 
You  will  learn  how  I  have  striven  for  you.  You 
cannot  refuse.  It  would  be  cruel,  inhuman, 
monstrous ! ' ' 

"Mistress  Clerke  has  much  to  learn  of  the  in- 
humanities, ' '  he  said.  And  then,  with  cool  com- 
posure, "What  power  availed  to  convince  her, 
where  Monsieur  Mornay  was  so  unfortunate!" 

"You  are  cruel,  cruel.  What  had  you  to  ex- 
pect of  me?  What  had  you  done  in  London  to 
merit  my  favor?  Why  should  I  have  believed 
in  one  of  whom  I  knew  nothing — nothing  but 

219 


THE  LOVE  OF  MONSIEUR 

presumption  and  indignity  ?  How  should  I  have 
known?" 

"  Madame 's  advisers — " 

"Do  not  speak  of  them,"  she  interrupted. 
' '  It  is  past.  The  proofs  were  brought  me.  That 
is  all.  Why  need  you  know  more  ? ' ' 

1 1  Captain  Ferrers  ?  "  he  said,  insinuatingly. 

"Yes,  he!"  She  drew  herself  to  her  full 
height,  and  he  could  not  fail  to  mark  the  lofty 
look  of  scorn  that  curved  her  lips  and  brow. 
"All  London  learned  of  the  story  of  your  es- 
cape. My  agents  were  told  that  the  vessel  upon 
which  you  had  fled  was  in  the  American  trade. 
And  so  I  sought  service  where  I  might  best 
reach  you.  Thank  God,  my  quest  has  not  been 
in  vain ! ' ' 

"Madame  sought  service?"  he  said,  in  a  won- 
der which  vied  with  his  cold  assumption  of 
apathy. 

"I  sought  service  with  the  Senorita  de  Batte- 
ville,  monsieur,"  she  continued,  with  a  proud 
lift  of  the  chin,  "in  the  capacity  of  waiting- 
woman  and  duenna. ' ' 

The  words  fell  with  cruel  import  upon  his 
220 


MONSIEUR    LEARNS    SOMETHING 

ears.    He  could  hardly  believe  that  he  had  heard 
aright. 

' '  You  serve —  ? "  he  stammered. 

1  'Have  I  not  said  that  every  livre  of  my  for- 
tune— " 

* '  Yes.    But,  madame — to  serve ! — you ! — ' ' 

"Is  it  so  strange?  Would  you  have  me  take 
that  which  is  not  mine  ?  No,  monsieur,  I  am  no 
thief." 

Bras-de-Fer  had  turned  resolutely  towards 
the  bulwarks  with  a  mind  more  turbulent  even 
than  the  seething  waters  below  him.  In  the  tur- 
moil of  his  emotions  he  knew  not  which  way  to 
turn,  what  to  say  or  what  to  do.  The  plan  that 
he  had  marked  for  himself  was  becoming  every 
moment  less  and  less  distinct. 

It  was  with  an  effort  that  he  turned  towards 
her,  his  resolution  giving  him  an  implacability 
he  was  far  from  feeling. 

"Madame,  your  probity  does  you  credit. 
Were  your  judgment  as  unerring  as  your  hon- 
esty, I  had  not  left  London.  As  it  is,  I've  no 
mind  to  return." 

"Monsieur,"  she  faltered — "monsieur — " 
221 


THE  LOVE  OF  MONSIEUR 

"If  you  please,  madame.  I  would  have  you 
below.  "Tis  a  rough  crew,  and  I'll  not  answer 
for  them — " 

"But  you  will  tell  me — " 

"Madame,  you've  purged  your  conscience. 
There  your  duty  ends.  At  Port  Royal  it  shall 
be  arranged  that  you  are  sent  to  Porto  Bello. 
As  for  me,  my  will  is  made. ' ' 

"Ah,  you  are  malignant,"  she  cried,  with  a 
flash  of  spirit,  his  cold,  sinister  eye  sinking  and 
piercing  deep  into  her  heart  like  cold  steel. 
"You  are  not  he  whom  I  have  sought.  He  was 
frank,  generous,  kind.  A  strange,  bitter, 
monstrous  creature  has  grown  in  his  guise." 
Her  voice  trembled  and  broke  as  she  moved  to 
the  hatchway. 

"May  God  help  you,"  she  said,  in  a  kind  of 
sobbing  whisper,  "who  have  so  little  kindness 
and  pity  for  others. ' '  And  in  a  moment  she  had 
faded,  a  slender,  shrinking  shade  of  sorrow, 
from  his  vision. 

When  she  was  gone  he  fell  upon  the  bulwarks 
and  buried  his  face  in  his  hands. 

"Ah,  bon  Dieu!"  he  murmured;  "how  could  I 
222 


MONSIEUR   LEARNS   SOMETHING 

do  it!  She  who  has  been  so  kind — so  kind/* 
The  new  delight  that  swept  over  him  at  the 
thought  of  all  that  this  rare,  sweet  woman  had 
done  for  him  came  over  him  in  a  delicious  flush, 
which  drove  away  the  pallor  of  his  distemper 
like  the  warm  glow  of  the  tropics  upon  the 
frozen  north.  The  heavy  burden  of  his  melan- 
choly was  lifted.  If  he  crept  about  with  bowed 
head  now,  it  was  because  of  some  failing  of  the 
spirit  or  some  craven  dishonor  of  his  own.  He 
and  his  were  forever  raised  to  high  estate,  and 
no  careless  proscription  of  his  inconsequent 
Mistress  Fate  could  cast  him  down  again.  The 
freedom  of  his  soul  from  the  blight  which  his 
birth  had  put  upon  it  lent  it  wings  to  soar  gladly 
into  the  wide  empyrean  of  his  imagination. 
And  he  gave  himself  up  without  stint  to  the  new 
joy  in  their  motion.  Did  he  wish,  he  could  go  at 
once  to  London  and  take  a  place  among  the  men 
of  his  kind,  a  place  which  no  mere  art  could  win 
for  him. 

To  London!  There  was  a  time  when  that 
word  was  magic  for  him — when,  in  careless 
bravado,  he  was  challenging  his  fortune  to  deny 

223 


THE  LOVE  OF  MONSIEUR 

him  what  he  wished.  Now  he  wondered  at  the 
singular  distaste  which  grew  at  the  very  thought 
of  the  life  that  had  been.  With  such  a  fortune 
and  such  a  name  there  were  no  favors  or  honors 
he  could  not  buy.  He  would  know  how  to  win 
his  way  again.  But  his  spirit  was  listless  at  the 
thought.  With  the  joy  at  his  freedom  from  the 
cloud  of  his  birth  his  pleasure  ended.  The  es- 
tates, his  titles  and  honors,  dwelt  so  little  in  his 
mind  that  he  marveled  again  at  his  change  of 
disposition.  He  could  go  to  London.  But  at 
what  cost!  Summon  the  goddesses  of  his  past 
as  he  might,  their  essenced  wiles  and  specious 
blandishing,  distance  gave  them  no  added 
charm.  He  could  only  see  this  pale,  proud 
woman,  with  a  rare  and  imperturbable  honesty 
which  showed  how  justly  she  had  worn  the  hon- 
ors she  relinquished,  in  a  pure  nobility  which 
brought  a  flush  to  his  cheek,  giving  up  without 
a  qualm  or  faltering  the  life  and  habits,  the 
high  condition,  to  which  she  had  been  born  and 
in  which  she  had  been  so  carefully  nurtured. 
Could  he  go  back  to  London  to  leave  this  woman 
a  wanderer,  a  servant,  whose  only  hope  even 

224 


MONSIEUR    LEARNS    SOMETHING 

for  a  bare  existence  lay  in  the  bounty  of  a  Span- 
iard! The  thought  grew  upon  him  and  op- 
pressed him  and  drove  all  the  joy  from  his 
heart.  All  this  she  had  done  for  him — for  him. 
He  rolled  the  thought  over  and  over  in  his  mind, 
like  a  sweetmeat  in  the  mouth,  with  a  new  taste 
of  delicacy  and  delight  at  every  turn.  She  had 
given  it  all  for  him — that  he,  the  man  she  had 
affected  so  profoundly  to  despise,  might  be  ex- 
alted. It  was  not  a  triumph,  but  a  quiet  joy, 
the  joy  that  the  sick  feel  at  the  touch  of  a  minis- 
tering angel.  It  did  not  matter  what  the  cause, 
whether  she  had  made  this  sacrifice  for  the  prin- 
ciple or  whether  she  had  made  it  for  the  individ- 
ual. He  was  the  cause  of  this  great  outflow  of 
human  kindness  and  self-sacrifice  from  the 
deep,  warm  well-springs  of  this  wonderful 
woman's  heart,  which  he  had  so  often  sought 
to  reach  and  sought  in  vain.  The  glimmer  of 
a  single  tear  which  had  trembled  a  moment  upon 
her  cheek  in  the  lantern-light  reached  to  the 
very  quick  of  the  unrevealed  secret  depths  of 
his  nature,  where  no  plummet  had  ever  before 
sounded.  It  had  glistened  a  jewel  more  inesti- 

225 


THE  LOVE  OF  MONSIEUR 

mable  than  all  the  wealth  she  had  brought  him. 
Could  he  leave  this  woman  upon  the  world,  at 
the  mercy  of  every  bitter  occasion?  He  had 
chosen  wisely.  Bed-handed  boucanier  he  would 
remain.  He  would  not  undeceive  her.  The  light 
in  which  she  held  him  removed  all  chance  of  an 
understanding.  He  would  set  her  safely 
ashore  at  Porto  Bello;  then,  with  the  aid  of 
Cornbury  and  the  English  government,  so  dis- 
pose his  affairs  that  the  fortune  would  revert  to 
her  in  case  of  his  death  whether  she  willed  it 
or  no.  Then  he  would  set  to  sea  and  take  the 
precaution  to  die  as  speedily  and  publicly  as 
might  be.  So  far  as  she  was  concerned  that 
would  be  the  end.  He  would  see  England  no 
more.  It  was  here  that  his  talents  found  their 
readiest  employment.  Of  all  his  fortune,  he 
would  take  only  the  ship  upon  which  he  sailed, 
and  under  another  name,  which  would  serve  his 
purposes  as  adequately  as  the  one  he  now  bore, 
he  would  continue  as  he  had  begun,  with  a  wider 
license  only,  a  free-trader,  a  picaroon,  a  pirato, 
if  you  will. 

226 


MONSIEUR   LEARNS   SOMETHING 

It  was  Jacquard  who  broke,  without  cere- 
mony, upon  his  meditations. 

"Monsieur  le  Capitaine,"  he  began,  with  an 
air  of  some  brusqueness. 

"Oh,  Jacquard,"  he  replied,  abstractedly, 
'  *  are  we  well  repaired  ? ' ' 

"Monsieur,  it  is  not  that.  For  some  days  I 
have  wished  to  see  you.  There  is  a  muttering 
in  the  forecastle.  Yan  Gratz — " 

"Ah!    Well—" 

"Monsieur,  there  is  nothing  upon  the  surface ; 
from  outward  view  'tis  placid  as  a  pond.  But 
I  know.  I  have  ears  upon  all  sides  of  my  head. 
Tis  Yan  Gratz.  You've  set  his  value  too  low. 
Gratz  will  not  forget  the  leopard  spots  upon 
him.  Like  the  leopard,  he  will  bite,  and  as 
stealthily  he  will  crawl. ' ' 

"Pardieu,  Jacquard,  is  it  so?"  Bras-de-Fer 
lifted  his  brows.  "And  what  is  the  grievance 
now?" 

Jacquard  scratched  his  great  nose  in  per- 
plexity before  he  replied 

"It  is  the  discipline,"  he  began,  slowly — "the 
discipline  which  has  wearied  them;  they  have 

227 


THE  LOVE  OF  MONSIEUR 

little  rum  to  drink:  two  tins  yesterday,  one  tin 
to-day,  and,  lastly — monsieur  will  pardon  me — 
lastly,  monsieur,  this  matter  of  the  lady  pris- 
oner. Monsieur,  they  say — " 

"Jacquard,  it  is  enough,"  he  interrupted. 
"You  need  say  no  more.  You  may  tell  them 
that  upon  the  Saucy  Sally  I  command.  If  there 
is  grumbling,  let  them  come  to  me  openly  at  the 
mast  and  not  skulk  like  cats  in  the  dark. ' ' 

"If  monsieur  will  permit,  I  would  think  it 
better—" 

"What!  You,  too,  Jacquard?  Why,  'tis  a 
very  honeycomb  of  faithlessness." 

"Monsieur,  monsieur!"  cried  Jacquard  in  an 
agony  of  awkward  anguish.  "You  know  that  it 
is  not  so,  monsieur.  It  is  not  so ;  I  am  but  giv- 
ing my  opinion.  It  would  be  wise  to  notice  them. 
There  is  yet  time  to  set  the  lady  upon  a  vessel." 

"It  shall  not  be,  Jacquard.  We  sail  straight 
forth  into  the  broad  ocean,  and  then  by  way  of 
the  wide  passage  of  Porto  Rico,  west  to  Port 
Royal,  in  Jamaica.  That  is  my  plan.  It  is  un- 
alterable. If  we  happen  upon  Spanish  prizes, 
so  much  the  better.  We  shall  take  them.  But 

228 


MONSIEUR    LEARNS    SOMETHING 

we  shall  seek  none.  And  as  for  the  lady,  she 
shall  be  set  ashore  upon  Jamaica,  and  not  upon 
any  passing  ship.*' 

Jacquard,  whose  jaw  had  dropped,  and  whose 
face  had  been  growing  longer  and  longer  dur- 
ing this  recital,  burst  forth  at  last. 

"Mais,  monsieur,"  he  cried,  "it  is  unwise  to 
taunt  them  so.  The  Spanish  ships  are  thick 
about  us.  In  another  month  the  carrying  will 
be  less.  It  is  the  time  of  times.  Their  blood  is 
hot  with  victory. ' ' 

Bras-de-Fer  broke  in  with  an  oath.  "It  will 
be  cold  with  death  if  they  balk  me.  If  Yan 
Gratz  has  aught  to  say,  let  him  come  forth  like 
a  man,"  and  then,  with  a  smile,  "Perhaps  he 
has  the  stomach  for  a  little  play  upon  the  pike." 

"Monsieur,  he  will  not  come.  He  fears  you 
like  the  plague.  He  will  do  his  work  the  more 
effectively  in  quiet. ' ' 

Bras-de-Fer  paused  a  moment  and  then  came 
to  Jacquard  and  put  both  hands  upon  his 
shoulders. 

"Mon  ami,"  he  said,  "what  you  ask  is  impos- 
sible. It  is  impossible.  I  give  you  my  word.  If 

229 


THE  LOVE  OF  MONSIEUR 

I  could  do  what  you  advise  I  should  do  so ;  for 
what  you  urge  is  wise.  But  I  must  try  to  do 
what  I  have  planned  to  do.  If  I  cannot  do  it 
with  you,  I  must  do  it  without  you. ' ' 

"Oh,  monsieur,"  interrupted  Jacquard,  al- 
most at  the  edge  of  tears,  "I  would  do  for  you 
always — speak  for  you,  work  for  you,  fight  for 
you — and  now,  do  not  doubt  me,  monsieur!" 
The  appeal  shone  forth  with  so  true  a  light  from 
his  small,  glittering  eyes  that  Bras-de-Fer  was 
truly  affected  by  the  demonstration. 

"I  believe  you,  mon  ami.  Go.  Tell  me  all 
that  happens.  I  will  follow  your  advice  as  I 
can." 


CHAPTER  XIV 
THE  UNMASKING 

MISTRESS  BARBARA  reached  her  cabin 
door,  free,  save  for  that  rebellious  tear 
which  the  Frenchman  had  seen,  of  any  outward 
mark  of  the  turbulence  of  her  emotions.  But 
once  within,  and  the  key  turned  in  the  lock,  she 
buried  her  face  in  her  hands,  her  frame  racked 
by  hard,  dry  sobs  which  filled  her  throat  and 
overwhelmed  her.  Fearful  that  the  sounds 
might  reach  the  ears  of  him  who  had  caused 
them,  she  clenched  her  teeth  upon  her  kerchief, 
wrapped  her  cloak  closely  about  her  neck  and 
face,  and  threw  herself  upon  the  bench  in  an 
agony  of  mortification.  God  help  her !  Had  it 
all  been  in  vain?  She  had  sought  the  man,  she 
had  found  him,  and  he  had  repulsed  her  un- 
kindly, even  cruelly,  as  though  she  had  been  a 
foolish  child  or  a  dotard — a  person  unworthy  of 
consideration.  Was  this  the  one  she  had  known 

231 


THE  LOVE  OF  MONSIEUR 

in  London,  the  gallant  Chevalier  Mornay,  who, 
however  bold  or  daring,  carried  forward  his 
presumptions  with  a  grace  and  courtesy  which 
robbed  them  of  their  offensiveness  ?  She  might 
acknowledge  this  now  that  he  was  grown  so 
different.  What  had  come  over  him?  Was  he 
mad?  He  had  repulsed  her  as  though  she 
sought  to  do  him  an  injury;  had  spoken  to  her 
as  she  had  heard  him  speak  to  the  vile  creatures 
about  him,  in  a  tone  which  lowered  her  to  their 
own  low  level.  He  had  spurned  her,  scorned  her 
lightly,  carelessly,  coolly,  as  though  even  his 
scorn  were  too  valuable  an  emotion  to  squander 
upon  one  he  held  in  such  a  low  estimation. 
Never  had  she  been  treated  thus  by  man  or 
woman,  and  her  gorge  rose  at  the  thought  of  it. 
The  sobbing  ceased,  and  in  place  of  her  distress 
came  an  unreasoning,  quiet  fury — fury  at  her- 
self, at  him,  at  the  world  which  had  brought  her 
to  such  a  pass.  She  rose  and,  angrily  brushing 
the  wet,  straggling  hair  from  her  eyes,  threw 
wide  the  stern  casement  to  look  out  on  the  gray 
turmoil  of  waters  which  vanished  into  the  un- 
seen. Was  this  the  man  for  whom  she  had  left 

232 


THE  UNMASKING 

London  and  sacrificed  everything?  Was  this 
fool  who  threw  her  favors  aside  like  a  tarnished 
ribbon,  was  this  the  man  who  had  followed  her 
about  from  place  to  place  in  London,  seeking  to 
win  her  by  the  same  bold  methods  he  had  used 
with  other  women,  fawning — yes,  fawning — for 
a  look  or  a  glance  which  he  might  read  to  his 
advantage?  She  laughed  aloud.  Ah!  he  had 
found  none.  No  sign,  not  the  faintest  quiver  of 
an  eyelid  had  she  ever  given  him ;  nor  even  dig- 
nified him  by  her  righteous  anger  until  that 
night  in  the  garden  at  Dorset  House,  when  by  a 
trick  he  had  taken  her  unawares,  to  the  end  that 
her  lofty  disdain  had  given  way  to  an  active, 
breathing  hatred.  Then,  when  she  had  learned 
that  the  man  was  no  impostor,  but  her  own  kins- 
man, of  whose  martyrdom  she  had  been  un- 
wittingly the  cause,  pity  had  taken  the  place  of 
scorn,  contrition  the  place  of  vengefulness,  com- 
passion the  place  of  hate. 

The  damp  night  wind  touched  her  cheek  and 
brow,  the  luster  died  out  of  her  eyes,  her  lips 
parted,  and  the  deep  intaking  of  breath  and 
trembling  sigh  bespoke  the  passing  of  the  emo- 

233 


THE  LOVE  OF  MONSIEUR 

tion — a  surrender.  Was  he  not  moving  strictly 
within  the  letter  of  his  rights  1  Could  she  expect 
him  to  come  flying  on  wings  of  ardency  at  the 
mere  crooking  of  her  finger  ?  Search  her  heart 
as  she  might,  she  could  find  no  anger  there.  Of 
that  she  was  sure,  no  matter  how  great  the  re- 
bellion of  her  spirit  against  his  cool  impene- 
trability. She  knew  better  than  any  words 
could  tell  that  had  he  been  precipitate  in  re- 
sponse to  her  news  and  her  petitions,  she  must 
have  been  as  stone  to  his  advances.  But  he  wore 
his  armor  so  well  that  her  woman's  weapons 
needed  all  their  burnishing.  She  was  conscious 
even  of  a  sense  of  guilt.  The  noble  sentiments 
which  had  sent  her  forth  upon  this  wild  chase 
across  half  the  world  were  suborned  to  the 
feminine  appetite  for  tribute  withheld.  The 
woman  in  her  saw  only  her  natural  enemy,  man, 
rebellious  and  declaring  war,  who  must  at  all 
hazards  be  brought  into  subjection. 

It  might  be  possible.  And  yet  she  doubted. 
She  could  not  understand.  One  moment  he  was 
masterful  in  a  way  which  thrilled  her.  In  an- 
other the  eyes  would  reveal  that  which  no  tan- 

234 


THE  UNMASKING 


gling  or  knitting  of  the  brows  or  thinning  of  the 
lips  could  belie.  Had  she  rightly  read  him? 
She  could  not  forget  that  she  had  surprised  him 
in  his  subterfuges,  that,  in  spite  of  herself  and 
him,  she  could  not  fear  him.  What  if — ?  She 
dared  not  think.  Was  the  love  which  this  man's 
eyes  had  spoken  to  her  so  great  as  this  ?  Could 
it  be  that  her  fate  was  ever  cruelly  to  misjudge 
him  ?  Was  there  something  finer  in  his  life  than 
she  had  ever  known  in  another's — something 
that  she  could  not  learn  of  or  understand? 

She  trembled  a  little  and  drew  the  casement 
in.  The  lantern  was  flickering  dimly,  casting 
strange  patches  of  shadow,  which  danced  upon 
the  beams  and  bulkhead.  If  monsieur  loved  her 
she  would  learn  it  from  his  own  lips.  If  this 
were  so,  and  she  had  not  read  him  amiss,  'twas 
but  a  paltry  excuse  for  a  man  of  his  birth  and 
attainments  to  throw  away  his  life  at  this  wild 
calling,  to  the  end  that  a  silly  person  (who 
merited  nothing)  might  continue  to  enjoy  the 
benefits  he  could  thus  relinquish.  He  should  not 
leave  her  again.  At  whatever  cost  he  must  re- 
turn to  London.  The  estates  were  his,  and  noth- 

235 


THE  LOVE  OF  MONSIEUR 

ing  save  his  death  could  give  her  any  right  to 
them. 

She  was  warm  and  cold  by  turns.  She  must 
gain  time  to  win  him  over,  dissimulate,  deceive 
him  if  necessary.  It  might,  perhaps,  be  ac- 
complished; a  look  or  a  gesture,  a  speech  with 
a  hidden  meaning  (however  at  variance  with  the 
fact)  which  might  give  him  hope  that  she  was  no 
longer  indifferent  to  him.  Then,  perhaps,  she 
might  draw  aside  the  mask.  He  would  be  tract- 
able and  perhaps  even  pliant.  Ah,  she  must 
act  well  her  part,  with  all  her  subtle  woman's 
weapons  of  offense ;  conceal  her  feelings  (how- 
ever at  variance  with  the  actual  performance), 
that  he  might  not  question  her  integrity.  He 
was  clever  and  keen.  It  would  call  for  all  the 
refinements  of  her  arts.  Were  she  not  to  throw 
a  depth  of  meaning  into  her  play  of  the  role  he 
would  learn  of  the  fraud  and  all  her  labors 
would  be  at  naught.  Despicable  as  the  task 
would  be  (what  could  be  more  despicable  than 
mock  coquetry?),  she  must  go  through  it  in  the 
same  spirit  with  which  she  had  entered  upon 
this  quest.  There  would  be  no  need,  of  course, 

236 


THE  UNMASKING 


to  promise  anything  (what  would  there  be  to 
promise!),  and,  when  the  time  was  come,  she 
could  go  out  of  his  life  as  speedily  as  she  had 
come  into  it.  Far  into  the  night  she  thought  and 
planned,  while  she  watched  the  guttering  lamps 
and  the  wavering  shadows,  until  at  last  weari- 
ness fell  heavily  upon  her  eyelids  and  she  slept. 

The  cabin  was  aflood  with  light  when  she 
awoke.  There  was  a  sound  of  rushing  feet  over- 
head, the  clatter  of  heavy  boots,  and  the  rattle 
of  blocks  and  spars.  Hoarse  orders  rang  for- 
ward and  aft,  and  the  very  air  seemed  aquiver 
with  import.  Deep  down  in  the  bowels  of  the 
vessel  below  her  she  heard  the  jangling  of  arms 
and  the  jarring  of  heavy  objects.  She  started 
up,  half  in  wonder,  half  in  fear,  and  rushed  to 
the  port  by  the  bulkhead. 

There  the  reason  for  this  ominous  activity 
was  apparent.  Not  a  league  distant  under  the 
lee  was  a  large  vessel  under  full  press  of  can- 
vas, fleeing  for  her  life.  'Twas  evident  that  the 
Saucy  Sally  had  crept  near  her  during  the 
night;  and  the  laggard  Spaniard,  unaware  of 
the  nationality  or  dangerous  character  of  his 

237 


THE  LOVE  OF  MONSIEUR 

neighbor,  had  permitted  her  to  come  close,  until 
the  full  light  of  day  had  convinced  him  of  his 
error.  That  he  was  making  a  valiant  effort  to 
repair  it  was  evident  in  the  way  the  vessel  was 
heeling  to  the  wind  and  the  lashing  of  the  amber 
foam  into  which  she  frantically  swam  in  her 
mad  struggle  to  win  clear  away.  But  even  Mis- 
tress Barbara's  untutored  eye  could  see  that  the 
effort  was  a  vain  one.  For  the  slipping  seas 
went  hurrying  past  the  Sally's  quarter  with  a 
rush  which  sent  them  speedily  astern  to  mingle 
with  the  dancing  blue  line  which  marked  the 
meeting  of  the  sky  and  sea. 

The  intention  of  the  Sally  was  soon  apparent. 
A  crash  split  Mistress  Barbara's  ears  and  set 
her  quivering  with  fear.  Flight  was  impossible, 
and  so,  in  a  ferment  of  terror,  yet  fascinated, 
she  watched  the  shot  go  flying  towards  the  luck- 
less fugitive.  It  was  not  until  then  that  the  real 
danger  of  her  situation  became  apparent.  A 
cloud  of  white  floated  away  from  the  Spaniard 's 
stern.  She  saw  no  shot  nor  heard  any  sound  of 
its  striking,  but  she  knew  that  monsieur  had  will- 
fully gone  into  action,  and  heedlessly  exposed 

238 


THE  UNMASKING 


her  to  the  shocks  of  war.  Had  he  no  kindness, 
no  clemency  or  compassion?  Was  it,  after  all, 
a  mistake  that  she  should  have  given  this  man 
her  solicitude  and  confidence? 

A  knock  at  the  door  fell  almost  as  loudly  upon 
her  ears  as  the  crash  of  ordnance  had  done. 
When  a  second  and  sharper  knock  resounded, 
she  summoned  her  voice  to  answer. 

"Madame,  it  is  I,"  came  in  low  tones  from 
without.  "If  you  can  find  it  convenient  to 
open — " 

At  the  sound  of  the  voice  she  gained  courage. 
Monsieur  had  come  to  her.  Trembling,  yet  still 
undismayed,  she  crept  to  the  door  and  opened  it. 

The  face  of  the  Frenchman  was  dark  and 
impassive.  If  the  night  had  brought  a  new  reso- 
lution to  her,  it  was  plain  that  monsieur  was  in 
no  wise  different  from  yesterday.  All  this  she 
noted  while  her  hand  still  clung  falteringly  to 
the  knob  of  the  door. 

"Madame,"  he  began,  "the  matter  is  most 
urgent.  If  it  will  please  you  to  follow  me — " 

Mistress  Barbara  with  difficulty  found  her 
tongue. 

239 


THE  LOVE  OF  MONSIEUR 

1 '  Where,  monsieur.    What — ' ' 

11  Madame,  I  pray  that  you  will  make  haste. 
There  is  little  time  to  lose.  I  should  be  at  this 
moment  upon  the  deck." 

''Monsieur  would  take  me — ?" 

"Below  the  water-line,  madame.  There  \vill 
be  a  fight.  Shots  may  be  fired.  I  would  have 
you  in  safety. ' ' 

Alas  for  Mistress  Barbara's  crafty  plans  and 
gentle  resolutions.  In  a  moment  they  were  dis- 
sipated by  the  imperturbability,  the  tepid  in- 
difference of  his  manner,  which  should  have 
been  so  different  in  the  face  of  a  situation  which 
promised  so  much  that  was  ominous  to  her.  His 
coolness  fell  about  her  like  a  bucket  of  water, 
and  sent  a  righteous  anger  to  her  rescue,  so  that 
her  chill  terror  was  driven  forth  for  the  nonce 
by  a  flush  of  hot  blood.  When  she  spoke,  her 
voice  rang  clear  with  a  certain  bitter  courage. 

' '  Safety ! ' '  she  cried.  ' '  Monsieur  is  too  kind. 
I  shall  prefer  to  be  killed  here — here  in  the  de- 
cent privacy  of  the  cabin." 

"Madame,"  said  he,  in  impatience,  "it  is  no 
240 


THE  UNMASKING 

time  for  delay.  There  must  be  no  obstacle  to 
your  obedience.*' 

She  looked  at  him  in  an  angry  wonder.  If 
this  were  mock  insult,  it  had  too  undisguised  a 
taste  to  be  quite  palatable. 

"Monsieur,"  she  said,  stamping  her  foot  in 
a  rage,  "I  go  nowhere  for  you.  Nowhere.  I 
will  die  before  I  follow  you.  Battle  or  no  battle, 
here  I  shall  remain.  Am  I  a  lackey  or  a  woman- 
of-all-work  that  you  order  me  thus!  Safety! 
If  you  value  my  safety,  why  do  you  permit  them 
to  make  war  over  my  very  head  ?  No,  no.  You 
are  transparent — a  very  tissue  of  falsities.  I 
read  you  as  an  open  book,  monsieur." 

She  paused  a  moment  for  the  lack  of  breath. 

"I  do  not  believe  in  you.  How  do  you  repay 
me  for  what  I  have  done  ?  Refuse  me,  deny  me, 
and  order  me  about  like  a  willful  child  with  your 
insolent  glare  and  your  cool,  puckered  brow. 
What  is  my  safety  to  youf  I  do  not  believe — " 

"Madame,  you  must  come  at  once." 

"Never!"  she  cried.  "Never!  No  power 
shall  move  me  from  the  spot.  Nothing — "  At 
this  moment  a  crash  ten  times  more  dreadful 

241 


THE  LOVE  OF  MONSIEUR 

than  the  first  shook  the  vessel  like  a  hundred 
thunderbolts.  Cornbury,  in  blissful  ignorance 
of  the  battle  raging  below,  had  opened  the 
battle  above  with  the  entire  starboard  broadside. 

Mistress  Barbara  stammered,  faltered,  and 
fell  back  towards  the  table,  trembling  with  fear. 
She  put  her  hands  to  her  ears  as  though  to  blot 
out  the  sounds.  And  then,  in  a  supplicating  de- 
pendence which  set  at  naught  all  the  hot  words 
that  had  poured  from  her  lips,  she  leaned  for- 
ward listlessly  upon  the  table. 

"Take  me,"  she  said,  brokenly.  "Take  me. 
I  am  all  humility.  I  will  go,  monsieur. ' ' 

A  soft  light  she  had  seen  there  before  crept 
into  the  eyes  of  Bras-de-Fer.  As  though  uncon- 
scious, she  saw  his  extended  arms  thrust  for- 
ward to  her  support  and  heard  as  from  a  dis- 
tance the  resonant  voice,  the  notes  of  which, 
with  a  strange,  sweet  insistence,  sang  among  her 
emotions  until,  like  lute  strings,  they  sang  and 
trembled  in  return.  And  the  chord  which  they 
awoke  to  melody  rang  through  every  fiber  of  her 
being  with  a  new-pulsing  joy,  a  splendid  delight, 

242 


THE  UNMASKING 


like  the  full-throated  song  of  praise  of  a  bird  at 
early  morn. 

She  felt  his  hand  seek  hers.  She  made  no 
move  to  resist  him.  She  could  not.  Something 
in  the  break  of  his  voice,  the  reverence 
in  his  touch,  sought  and  subdued  her.  In  a  mo- 
ment she  learned  that  the  love  of  a  life  had  come 
and  that  all  else  was  as  nothing. 

' '  Barbara !  Barbara ! "  he  was  saying.  * '  Look 
at  me,  cherie.  Tell  me  that  you  are  not  angry. 
I  have  tried  so  hard  to  leave  you — so  hard.  I 
have  spoken  to  you  bitterly  and  coldly,  that  your 
mind  might  be  poisoned  and  frozen  against  me, 
that  you  might  hate  and  despise  me  for  the  un- 
worthy thing  that  I  am.  Alas!  it  is  my  own 
heart  that  I  have  pierced  and  broken.  Look  up 
at  me,  Barbara.  I  cannot  bear  to  see  you  thus. 
Ah,  if  you  had  only  opposed  me  in  anger,  I 
could  have  continued  the  deception.  Your  anger 
was  my  refuge.  It  was  the  only  thing  that  made 
my  cruelty  possible.  It  cried  aloud  like  a  naked 
sword.  I  welcomed  it,  and  set  steel  upon  steel 
that  I  might  shield  my  heart.  But  now,  listless, 
yielding,  submissive,  you  disarm  me,  you  rob 

243 


THE  LOVE  OF  MONSIEUR 

me  of  my  only  weapon.  I  am  yours.  Do  with 
me  what  you  will. ' ' 

His  voice  trembled,  and  he  bent  his  head  upon 
her  hand  to  hide  the  excess  of  his  emotion.  As 
she  felt  the  touch  of  his  lips,  she  started  and 
moved  ever  so  slightly,  but  with  no  effort  to 
withdraw.  When  he  lifted  his  head  it  was  to 
meet  eyes  that  wavered  and  looked  away. 

"Do  not  turn  from  me,  Barbara.  Do  not  add 
to  the  deep  measure  of  my  contrition.  The  cup 
is  full.  Add  to  it  but  one  drop  and  it  will  over- 
flow. Requite  me  with  tenderness,  madame,  if 
you  can  find  it  in  your  heart,  for  mine  is  very 
near  to  breaking.  Look  in  my  eyes,  where  my 
love  glows  like  a  beacon.  Listen,  and  you  will 
hear  it  speak  in  my  voice  like  a  young  god.  Can 
you  not  feel  my  very  finger-tips  singing  into 
your  palms  the  cadences  of  my  heart 's  chorus  ? 
Is  it  not  thus  that  women  wish  to  be  loved? 
Search  my  heart  as  you  will,  you'll  find  an  an- 
swer there  to  every  wish  and  every  prayer. ' ' 

She  trembled  and  swayed  in  his  arms  like  a 
slender  shrub  in  a  storm.  It  seemed  as  though, 
in  his  fervor,  he  were  running  the  gamut  of  her 

244 


THE  UNMASKING 


every  vulnerable  sensibility.  But  as  she  felt  his 
breath  warm  upon  her  hair  and  cheek  she  raised 
her  eyes  until  they  looked  into  his;  then  drew 
away  from  him  with  a  gentle  firmness.  She  was 
perturbed  and  shaken  with  the  compounding  of 
new  emotions.  She  could  not  see  all  things 
clearly.  She  only  knew  that  what  she  had  ex- 
pected least  had  come  to  pass.  She  had  bur- 
nished her  woman's  weapons  in  vain.  She  had 
sought  to  delude  and  beguile,  and  had  only  de- 
luded and  beguiled  herself.  As  she  had  prom- 
ised herself,  she  had  drawn  aside  the  mask,  but 
she  had  unmasked  herself  at  the  same  time.  She 
had  sought  and  she  had  found  so  many  things 
that  she  knew  not  which  way  to  turn.  She  must 
do  something  to  gain  time  to  think  and  plan.  It 
was  all  so  different  to  London.  In  spite  of  her- 
self, she  knew  that  he  had  conquered,  and  a 
suffusion  of  shame  that  she  had  been  so  easily 
won  mounted  to  her  neck  and  forehead,  and  she 
turned  her  head  away.  And  then,  in  a  last 
obedience  to  that  instinct  of  self-preservation 
which  sets  a  woman  upon  the  defensive  when 
she  knows  not  what  she  would  defend  (nor 

245 


THE  LOVE  OF  MONSIEUR 

would  defend  it  if  she  could),  she  broke  away 
from  him  and  stood  alone,  pulsing  with  the  ef- 
fort, but  triumphant. 

"Monsieur,"  she  breathed  with  difficulty,  "it 
is  unfair — to — to — press  me  so. ' ' 

But  he  was  relentless.  "Ah,  madame,  am  I 
then  despised,  as  on  that  night  in  Dorset 
Gardens  ?  Nay,  I  am  as  God  made  me — not  the 
thing  you  would  have  supposed — " 

"Monsieur,  have  pity." 

"Ah,  then  look  at  me  again,  Barbara.  Look 
in  my  face  and  deny.  Look  in  my  eyes,  cherie — 
deny  me  if  you  can. ' ' 

She  felt  his  arms  encircle  her,  and  she 
struggled  faintly. 

' '  No,  no.    It  is  not  so. ' ' 

"Look  me  in  the  eyes,  Barbara;  I  will  not  be- 
lieve it  else.  If  I  am  nothing  to  you,  look  me  in 
the  eyes  and  tell  me  so. '  ' 

"No!    No!    No!" 

She  raised  her  face  until  her  closed  eyes  were 
on  a  level  with  his  own.  Then  she  opened  them 
with  an  effort  to  look  at  him,  as  though  to  speak. 

A  deafening  crash  again  shook  the  Sally,  so 
246 


THE  UNMASKING 


that  the  ship's  dry  bones  rattled  and  quivered 
under  their  feet  like  a  being  with  the  ague,  and 
she  seemed  about  to  shake  her  timbers  asunder. 
Mistress  Barbara's  answer  was  not  spoken,  for 
at  this  rude  sound  a  fit  of  trembling  seized  her 
again  and  she  sank  listlessly  into  the  protecting 
shelter  of  his  arms,  and  hid  her  face  upon  his 
bosom  in  a  commingling  of  terror  and  wonder- 
ment that  were  only  half  real. 

"No,  no,7'  she  sobbed  at  last,  "it  is  not  true. 
It  is  not  true." 

Bras-de-Fer  bent  over  her  in  a  blind  adora- 
tion and  gently  touched  his  lips  to  her  hair.  She 
made  no  further  effort  to  resist  him.  Then, 
when  the  tear-stained  face  was  raised  to  his 
own,  in  her  eyes  he  read  a  different  answer  to 
his  pleading. 

"Bien  adoree!"  he  whispered,  kissing  her  ten- 
derly— "  Barbara  1 " 

The  hand  within  his  own  tightened  and  the 
lissome  figure  came  closer  to  his  own.  "Take 
me  away,  monsieur,"  she  murmured.  "Take 
me  away.  Oh,  I  am  so  weary — so  weary. ' ' 

"Struggle  no  more,"  he  whispered.  "Cour- 
247 


THE  LOVE  OF  MONSIEUR 

age ;  all  will  yet  be  well.  Come  with  me  below 
to  safety,  and  it  will  soon  be  over. ' ' 

He  had  moved  away  from  her  towards  the 
door,  and  would  have  withdrawn  his  hand,  but 
she  held  it  with  both  of  her  own  while  her  eyes 
looked  into  his  with  an  anxious  query. 

1  'Oh,  I,"  he  said,  with  a  smile — "I  shall  be 
in  no  danger,  madame.  That  I  promise  you. 
JTis  but  a  Spanish  merchantman,  with  little  skill 
in  war.  Why,  Sally  will  run  her  aboard  in  the 
skipping  of  a  shot.  And  now ' ' — as  they  moved 
towards  the  door — "but  a  little  while  and  I  shall 
be  with  you  again,  to  keep  guard  over  your  door, 
to  keep  guard  upon  you  always — always. '  * 


CHAPTER 
MUTINY 

SHE  summoned  all  her  courage,  and  Bras-de- 
Fer  led  her  forward  along  the  passage 
upon  the  deck  to  the  other  hatch.  Yan  Gratz, 
Jacquard,  and  the  crew  were  crowded  at  the 
broadside  guns,  and  at  the  sight  of  monsieur 
the  Dutchman's  face  broke  into  a  pasty  smile 
as  he  sneered  to  his  neighbor. 

"Vos  dis  a  schip  or  Vitehall  Palace?  Pots 
blitz!"  And  he  spat  demonstratively. 

But  Bras-de-Fer  was  handing  my  lady  down 
the  hatch  into  the  after-hold,  with  a  gesture  into 
which  he  put  even  more  of  a  manner  than  the 
occasion  demanded.  Jacquard  had  gone  down 
before  with  a  lighted  lantern,  and  had  un- 
fastened the  hatch  of  the  lazaretto,  the  opening 
of  which  made  a  murky  patch  in  the  obscurity. 
Mistress  Barbara  shuddered  a  little  and  drew 
back,  but  the  strong  arm  of  monsieur  encircled 

249 


THE  LOVE  OF  MONSIEUR 

her  waist,  his  firm  hand  reassured  her  own, 
and  his  low  voice  spoke  in  even  accents. 

"These  are  chests  of  gold  and  silver,  jewels 
and  silks,  madame";  and  then,  "It  is  here  that 
we  keep  our  priceless  captures,"  he  whispered, 
smiling.  "Sit  in  comfort.  The  water-line  is 
above,  where  you  see  the  beams  overhead.  In 
a  little  while  I  will  come  again,  and  all  will  be 
well."  He  pressed  the  trembling  hand  in  both 
his  own,  and  she  saw  him  follow  the  long  figure 
of  Jacquard,  who  with  sympathy  and  discretion, 
of  which  his  glum  demeanor  gave  no  indication, 
had  left  the  light  hanging  to  a  timber  and  gone 
growling  above. 

Alone  with  the  swaying  lantern,  the  beams 
and  bulkheads,  the  boxes  and  chests,  she  gave 
herself  over  to  her  own  turbulent  reflections. 
There  was  a  swish  and  hollow  gurgle  at  her  very 
ear  as  the  seas  alongside  washed  astern,  a 
creaking  and  a  groaning  of  the  timbers,  which 
made  her  tremble  for  the  stanchness  of  the 
'vessel.  The  boxes  and  chests  resolved  them- 
selves into  great  square  patches  of  light  which 
thrust  their  staring  presence  forward  ob- 

250 


MUTINY 


trusively;  and  the  vagrant  diagonal  shadow 
took  a  new  direction  and  meaning  in  the  misty 
darkness  beyond  the  sphere  of  light  at  each  new 
posture  of  the  vessel.  Strange  odors — musty, 
dry,  and  evil-smelling — afflicted  her  nostrils; 
and  the  air,  hot  and  fetid,  hung  about  her  and 
upon  her  offensively.  Breathing  became  a  mus- 
cular exertion  and  an  effort  of  the  will.  She  bit 
her  lip  and  clenched  her  hands  upon  the  chest 
where  she  was  seated,  to  keep  from  crying  aloud 
her  misery  and  terror.  Suddenly  there  was  a 
sound  of  rending  and  tearing  among  the  com- 
plaining timbers,  and  the  guns  above  renewed 
their  angry  threats.  One,  two,  three,  four  single 
discharges  she  heard,  a  scattering  broadside, 
and  then  silence.  Again  that  chorus  of  unfa- 
miliar sounds,  each  one  of  which  spoke  to  her  in 
a  different  way  of  danger  in  some  new  and 
dreadful  form.  Presently  the  clamorous  sea 
sang  a  louder,  wilder  note,  the  timbers  cried 
aloud  in  their  distress,  the  lantern  swung 
sharply  in  abrupt  and  shortening  circles,  and 
the  shadows,  like  arms,  thrust  out  at  her  from 
the  unseen  and  filled  her  with  a  new  and  name- 

251 


THE  LOVE  OF  MONSIEUR 

less  terror.  The  motion  of  the  vessel  was  sick- 
ening. And  the  black,  noisome  air,  from  which 
there  was  no  escape,  seemed  to  fill  her  very 
brain  and  poison  her  faculties. 

With  ;i  blind  effort  she  arose,  and  in  affright 
at  she  knew  not  what  crept  up  the  ladder  to  the 
hatch.  It  were  better  to  die  the  death  at  once 
than  to  be  poisoned  by  inches.  She  drank  grate- 
fully of  the  purer  air  above  her  and  listened  to 
the  sounds  of  shouting  from  the  deck.  There 
was  a  shock  and  a  crash  as  the  ships  came  to- 
gether, and  then  all  sounds,  save  at  intervals, 
were  lost  in  the  grinding  of  the  vessels  and  the 
roar  of  the  sea  between.  She  heard  several 
shots  as  though  at  a  great  distance,  but  these 
were  as  nothing  after  the  noise  of  the  great 
guns,  and  she  almost  smiled  as  she  thought  how 
easily  the  victory  was  accomplished. 

And  he — had  monsieur  come  off  free  of  harm? 
She  trembled  a  little  at  the  thought  of  it,  and 
yet  even  the  trembling  had  in  it  something  of 
a  new  and  singular  delight.  With  her  eyes 
free  to  roam  in  the  gray  of  the  half -deck,  where 
there  was  air,  if  ever  so  faint,  and  the  sweet 


MUTINY 

smell  of  the  sea,  she  thought  no  more  of  herself. 
The  silence  above  boded  no  ill.  She  heard  noth- 
ing but  the  wash  of  the  sea  alongside,  the  creak- 
ing and  clatter  of  blocks  on  the  deck,  and  the 
craunch  of  the  ships  to  the  roll  of  the  sea.  At 
last  the  sound  of  voices  was  nearer  and  louder, 
whether  in  anger,  fear,  or  pleasure  she  could 
not  discover ;  then  the  tramping  of  heavy  boots 
and  the  rushing  of  men  forward  and  aft ;  but  no 
sound  of  shot  or  clash  of  steel,  to  remind  her  of 
her  continued  jeopardy.  Five,  ten  minutes  she 
listened,  all  her  faculties  alert  for  the  sound  of 
his  voice.  The  grinding  of  the  vessels  ceased, 
and  when  the  main-deck  hatch  was  removed  she 
could  hear  quite  plainly  the  sounds  upon  the 
deck.  The  voices  of  men  in  fierce  disputation 
fell  hollowly  down  through  a  crack  in  the  nar- 
row aperture.  One  was  thin  and  small,  like  that 
of  a  child.  Another  was  heavy  and  gruff,  and 
cursed  volubly  in  French.  Sharper  tones  rang 
between  and  through  it  all,  the  roar  or  con- 
tinuous murmur  of  a  crowd.  Something  had 
fallen  amiss,  she  was  sure.  Suddenly,  as  though 
a  spell  had  fallen  upon  their  tongues,  the  clamor 

253 


THE  LOFE  OF  MONSIEUR 

was  hushed,  and  in  the  brief  second  of  despera- 
tion the  sea  noises  about  her  sang  loudly  in  her 
ears,  which  strained  to  catch  every  sound. 

At  last  a  single  voice,  slow,  calm,  dispassion- 
ate, began  to  speak;  it  was  his.  She  emerged 
upon  the  half -deck  in  order  that  nothing  of 
what  was  passing  might  escape  her,  and  leaned 
upon  the  ladder,  looking  to  where  the  daylight 
flickered  down. 

"Your  humor  is  changed  wondrously,  mes 
amis.  You  ask  many  things,  not  the  least  of 
which  is  this  Spaniard's  death.  You,  Yan 
Gratz,  and  you,  Earthier,  Troc,  and  Duquesnoy, 
you,  Craik  and  Goetz,  stand  aside.  I  grant 
nothing — nothing — where  I  see  the  gleam  of  a 
weapon  naked.  Sheathe  your  cutlasses  and 
stand  aside.  Then,  maybe,  we  shall  see." 

There  was  an  ominous  movement  of  scrap- 
ing feet,  a  clatter  of  weapons,  and  then  a  hoarse 
turmoil,  a  very  bedlam  of  sounds,  a  wild  scratch- 
ing and  scuffling  upon  the  deck,  and  hoarse, 
dreadful  cries,  savage  and  fierce,  like  the  bark 
of  hungry  dogs,  yet,  with  its  ringing  accompani- 
ment of  clanging  steel,  infinitely  more  terrible. 

254 


MUTINY 

Half  mad  with  the  terror  at  this  struggle,  of 
which  she  could  see  nothing,  faint  and  weak 
with  the  accumulation  of  her  distresses,  she 
hung  more  dead  than  alive  to  the  companion- 
ladder,  in  one  moment  shutting  her  ears  to  the 
mad  din  above  her,  in  another  listening  eagerly 
for  the  broken  fragments  of  sound,  fearful  that 
the  end  of  all  things  might  come  in  one  of  those 
merciful  moments  in  which  she  heard  nothing. 
She  thrust  her  hand  into  her  breast  and  pulled 
forth  the  slender  petronel  which  she  had 
brought  from  the  San  Isidro.  She  looked  at  the 
shining  barrel  and  saw  to  the  flint  and  charge. 
There  should  be  no  hesitation.  If  monsieur — 

But  no!  no!  He  was  there  yet.  She  heard 
his  voice,  strong,  valiant,  ringing  like  a  clarion 
above  the  medley:  "Aha,  Cornbury!"  it  cried. 
"Point  and  edge,  mon  ami!  .  .  .  Your  pupils 
are  too  apt,  Monsieur  le  Mattre  d'Armes.  .  .  . 
Ah,  Craik,  would  you?  .  .  .  Voild  .  .  .  louche, 
Duquesnoy  .  .  .  louche,  mais  .  .  .  ce  n'est 
rien!  .  .  .  Well  struck,  Cornbury!  .  .  .  Jae- 
quard,  help  us,  coquin!  ...  To  the  rail  .  .  . 

255 

I 


THE  LOVE  OF  MONSIEUR 

back  to  back  ...  we  will  drive  them  .  .  .  into 
the  sea!" 

The  rushing  feet  clattered  over  her  head  and 
she  heard  the  sound  of  his  voice  no  more.  She 
wondered  whether  it  was  because  it  rang  no 
more  that  she  did  not  hear  it,  or  whether  her 
terror  and  her  weakness  had  deprived  her  of 
her  senses.  The  seconds  grew  into  hours. 
Broken  cries  and  curses  in  strange,  harsh  voices 
came  to  her  again,  and  she  knew  that  she  heard 
aright ;  the  sound  of  blows,  the  hard  breathing 
of  men,  all  swallowed  in  the  many  noises  of  the 
combat,  and  at  the  last  the  fall  of  something 
muffled,  heavy,  and  resistless  upon  the  deck 
came  with  a  new  and  dreadful  portent  to  her 
ears.  She  stifled  the  shriek  which  rose  to  her 
lips  and  pressed  her  hands  to  her  bosom  to  still 
its  tremors.  That  dull,  echoless  sound  could 
have  but  one  meaning. 

She  stood  inert,  her  mind  and  body  things 
apart.  She  could  not  bring  herself  into  accord 
with  the  too  obtrusive  fact,  and  wondered  aim- 
lessly that  her  ear  caught  at  the  cries  of  the 
complaining  timbers  and  rush  of  water  along- 

256 


MUTINY 

side,  rather  than  at  the  vortex  of  her  life's 
tragedy  which  whirled  just  at  her  elbow.  And 
thus,  in  a  merciful  tempering  of  her  spirit  to 
the  occasion  she  hung  swaying  to  the  ladder,  her 
mind  gaining  a  cool  and  purposeful  self-pos- 
session which  was  to  nerve  her  frail  body  to 
further  efforts.  If  monsieur  were  dead,  then 
she  had  but  to  die  also.  She  knew  that  she  must 
keep  her  strength,  for  if  she  lost  consciousness 
they  would  come  below  and  find  her ;  and  when 
she  awoke — alive  and  alone  upon  this  horrible 
ship —  The  thought  gave  a  new  life  to  her  ener- 
gies, and  she  determined  to  put  an  end  at  once 
to  the  uncertainty.  Anything  were  better  than 
the  suspense  which  each  moment  made  the 
danger  of  weakness  more  imminent.  Step  by 
step  she  crept  up  the  staggering  ladder  until 
her  head  had  reached  the  level  of  the  hatch 
above.  Then  she  pushed  aside  the  covering, 
and,  the  pistolet  in  her  nerveless  fingers,  peered 
forth  upon  deck. 

Joy  gave  her  new  strength  and  energy.  There 
against  the  bulwarks,  pale  and  breathless,  but 
erect  and  strong,  with  the  light  of  battle  still 

257 


undiminished  in  his  eyes,  was  Bras-de-Fer; 
while  around  him  in  a  wide,  snarling  circle  were 
a  dozen  of  the  wolves  of  the  Saucy  Sally,  ready 
to  spring  in  upon  him,  and  yet  each  fearful  to 
be  the  first  to  bite.  There  was  a  smell  of  rum 
in  the  air,  and  a  broken  cask  told  a  part  of  the 
cause  of  the  difficulty.  Upon  the  deck  curious 
loose  distortions  made  a  ghastly  parody  of  the 
flesh  which  they  had  been.  All  these  things  she 
noted  in  a  glance,  but  her  eyes  fell  instinctively 
upon  the  figure  of  a  tall  man,  the  one  who  had 
lighted  her  below,  who  was  brandishing  his 
arms,  not  at  monsieur,  but  towards  a  stout  man 
in  baggy  breeches,  who  stood  defiantly  blinking 
at  him,  raising  first  a  pistol  and  then  a  sword 
towards  Bras-de-Fer  in  a  manner  not  to  be  mis- 
interpreted. Here  was  the  key  to  the  situation. 
He  was  not  then  quite  alone.  But  as  she  looked 
a  thrill  of  horror  came  over  her.  Two  men  fell 
upon  the  tall  man  from  behind  and  seized  his 
arms.  Then  the  fat  man  leaned  forward  to- 
wards monsieur,  with  an  oily,  vicious  smile. 
He  said  nothing  at  all,  but,  keeping  his  sword  in 
front  of  him,  with  his  left  hand,  slowly  and  with 

258 


MUTINY 

a  grim  deliberation,  raised  his  pistol  into  a 
line. 

Barbara's  wild  cry  rang  from  one  end  of  the 
deck  to  the  other.  Eegardless  of  her  own 
danger  and  scarce  responsible,  she  was  flying 
across  the  intervening  space  towards  Yan  Gratz. 
The  startled  Dutchman,  disconcerted  for  a  mo- 
ment by  this  unfamiliar  sound,  turned,  his 
mouth  agape,  his  pistol  pointing  purposeless  at 
the  empty  air.  "Stop!"  she  cried,  supremely 
imperious,  yet  affrighted  at  the  sound  of  her 
own  voice.  "Stop!  You  must  not!  I  com- 
mand you!" 

Yan  Gratz  paused,  uncertain  for  a  moment. 
He  looked  at  this  gentle  adversary  as  though 
he  did  not  know  whether  to  scowl  or  laugh. 
Then  his  lumpy  face  broke  into  a  smile  and  his 
lifted  brows  puckered  his  forehead  into  in- 
numerable wrinkles.  The  pistol  dropped  to 
his  side. 

"Aw — yaw — you  commandt  me?" — he  began 
wagging  his  head — "but  who  in  de  name  o'  Cott 
vhas  you?" 

Then  for  the  first  time  his  eye  fell  upon  the 
259 


THE  LOVE  OF  MONSIEUR 

pistolet  which  Mistress  Barbara  still  held 
tightly  clutched  in  her  extended  hand.  In  her 
solicitude  for  monsieur  she  had  forgotten  her- 
self and  the  weapon,  which  now,  still  uncon- 
sciously, she  pointed  directly  at  the  portly  per- 
son of  Yan  Gratz.  He  stammered  and  fell  back 
a  pace  in  amazement.  The  diversion  was  suffi- 
cient. For  by  this  time  Jacquard  had  struggled 
to  his  feet,  and,  throwing  aside  the  fellows  who 
were  holding  him,  had  rushed  in  and  seized  the 
pistol  from  the  hand  of  the  Dutchman  before  he 
could  use  it.  At  the  same  moment  Bras-de-Fer, 
with  a  fierce  cry,  had  sprung  forward  among  the 
amazed  mutineers  and  had  taken  Barbara  under 
the  cover  of  his  weapon. 

"  Listen,  mes  camarades!"  roared  Jacquard 
above  the  confusion,  waving  the  pistol  in  wide, 
commanding  circles.  "Listen,  mes  braves,  and 
you  will  not  regret.  Listen,  I  say.  It  is  I,  Jac- 
quard, who  speaks.  Wait  but  a  moment  and 
hear  me.  Listen.  And  when  I  am  done  you  will 
say  old  Jacquard  is  wise. ' '  His  ungainly  figure 
towered  before  them — the  swinging  arms  like 
great  wings,  the  hooked  brows  and  curved  beak 

260 


MUTINY 

making  him  look  not  unlike  some  gigantic  bird 
of  prey  ready  at  a  moment  to  fall  upon  any  who 
denied  him.  At  last,  such  was  his  influence  that 
they  were  brought  to  a  measure  of  calmness. 
Then  with  crafty  deliberation  he  began  to  speak. 

1  'Ah,  mes  galants,  we  have  hunted  together 
long,  you  and  I,  and  we  have  hunted  well.  Last 
year  you  drank  or  spent  or  gamed  a  thousand 
pounds  away.  To-day  the  hold  and  lazaretto  of 
old  Sally  are  full  of  Spanish  silks  and  laces  and 
plate  for  the  selling.  In  Port  Royal  are  other 
ships  which  will  yield  ye  more.  And  you  will 
sacrifice  these  ships  and  these  cargoes  and  all 
the  money  they'll  bring  to  you." 

Many  cries  arose,  the  loudest  of  which  was 
that  of  Yan  Gratz.  "Sacrifice  de  schips, 
Shacky  Shackart!  Py  Cott!  It  is  a  lie,  ver- 
domd!" 

"It  is  so,  mateys,  I  will  swear  it.  Kill  mon- 
sieur, yonder,  and  not  one  shilling  from  the 
ships  do  you  get.  Why?  In  Port  Eoyal  mon- 
sieur showed  his  warrant  to  the  governor.  The 
governor  has  a  certain  share  in  the  takings  from 
the  Isidro.  'Twill  be  a  strange  tale  ye  01  tell  if 

261 


Bras-de-Fer  comes  not  back  with  the  ship.  The 
master-at-arms  ye've  killed,  if  I  mistake  not. 
He 's  captain  in  his  Majesty 's  Guards.  Perhaps 
ye  can  explain  that. ' ' 

Anxious  glances  passed  among  the  rascals  as 
they  looked  first  at  monsieur  and  then  at  Jac- 
quard.  But  Yan  Gratz  was  not  to  be  deceived  or 
robbed  of  his  vengeance. 

' '  Donner  vetter ! "  he  cried.  ' '  Ay,  yai.  Vhat 
tifference  it  makes?  De  varrant  is  de  varrant 
of  Pilly  Vinch;  no  odder — I  am  as  goot  a  man 
as  him.  Tunder  of  der  Teuf el !  I  vill  make  a 
call  mineself  upon  de  Governor  of  Chamaica. " 

In  answer  to  this  sally,  Jacquard  burst  into 
a  loud  laugh.  "Ha,  ha!  Ye 're  swelled  out  of 
all  proper  dimensions,  Yan  Gratz.  Ye  forget 
that  Monsieur  the  Governor  and  Monsieur  Bras- 
de-Fer  are  friends.  Listen,  then,  to  what  I  pro- 
pose. Bras-de-Fer  will  write  us  a  letter  saying 
that  you  or  I  may  receive  the  ships  for  our 
owners.  In  return  we  will  give  monsieur  and 
madame  the  pinnace  and  let  them  go  whither 
they  will." 

"No,  py  Cott!"  roared  Gratz,  furious  at  be- 
262 


MUTINY 

ing  balked  of  his  vengeance.    "He  shall  not  get 
avay  from  me ! ' ' 

There  was  a  mingling  of  opinions,  loudly  and 
profanely  expressed,  and  it  looked  for  the  mo- 
ment as  though  the  strife  would  be  renewed. 
Yan  Gratz  's  Dutchmen  stood  by  him  to  a  man. 
And  while  the  gleaming  sword  and  pistolet  of 
monsieur  held  them  at  a  safe  distance,  they 
sought  by  their  shouting  of  wild  threats  to  make 
up  for  their  other  deficiencies.  Barbara,  hid 
behind  Bras-de-Fer,  sought  valiantly  to  match 
her  courage  to  his,  but  with  pale  face  and  quak- 
ing limbs  she  awaited  the  decision  upon  which 
rested  his  life  or  death,  and  hers.  It  mattered 
little  which  it  was  to  be.  She  had  suffered  so 
much  that  anything — anything  which  brought 
rest — would  be  welcome.  But  monsieur  had  lost 
no  whit  of  his  aggressiveness.  If  he  was  silent, 
it  was  because  silence  was  best.  With  a  keen  eye 
he  noted  the  effect  of  the  speech  of  Jacquard. 
He  saw  that  his  compatriot  had  chosen  wisely 
in  leaving  his  sword  undrawn.  Thus  Jacquard 
retained  his  influence  with  the  crew,  whose  sym- 
pathy and  arms  he  could  not  have  swayed  alone 

263 


THE  LOVE  OF  MONSIEUR 

against  Yaii  Gratz.  Had  Jacquard  drawn  his 
weapon,  all  would  have  been  lost.  As  it  was, 
Bras-de-Fer  noted  that  the  larger  number  of 
the  crew  were  wagging  and  nodding  their  heads 
in  a  propitious  deliberation.  Frenchmen,  many 
of  them,  they  were  willing  to  forget  the  disci- 
pline and  restriction  of  their  liberties.  Only  one 
of  them,  Duquesnoy,  had  joined  in  the  conflict 
against  their  compatriot.  Duquesnoy  was  dead. 
They  would  be  satisfied  now  if  the  cause  of  their 
grievances  was  removed.  There  was  a  way 
which  offered  complete  compensation.  With 
Bras-de-Fer  marooned  with  his  lady  and  his  im- 
perious notions,  they  would  be  free  to  lead  the 
life  which  Billy  Winch  had  not  scrupled  to  deny 
them. 

Barthier,  gray-haired,  pock-marked,  ear- 
ringed,  shoved  his  huge  frame  before  Yan 
Gratz. 

"We  have  deliberated,  Yan  Gratz,"  said  he. 
"Jacquard  has  spoken  the  truth.  Monsieur 
has  fought  well.  He  has  bought  his  life,  and 
that  of  his  lady.  San  Salvador  is  distant  but 
twenty  leagues  to  the  south.  We  will  give 

264 


MUTINY 

them  provisions  for  a  week,  weapons,  and  the 
pinnace,  and  set  them  free. ' ' 

Gratz  glared  around  at  him  and  past  Ear- 
thier at  the  row  of  grim,  hairy  faces;  and  he 
knew  that  he  was  defeated.  With  an  ill  grace 
he  sheathed  his  sword,  thrust  his  pistol  in  his 
belt,  and,  muttering,  waddled  forward  into  the 
forecastle  with  his  following. 

When  they  were  gone,  Bras-de-Fer  fell  upon 
his  knees  beside  a  figure  upon  the  deck  at  his 
feet.  He  lifted  Cornbury  's  head  upon  his  knee, 
and,  calling  for  a  pannikin  of  rum,  forced  a 
small  quantity  of  the  fluid  between  the  lips  of 
the  Irishman.  Jacquard  felt  for  his  heart,  and 
Barbara  tore  a  bit  of  her  skirt  to  stanch  the  flow 
of  blood.  They  bathed  his  forehead  with  water, 
and  in  a  moment  were  rewarded  by  a  flicker  of 
the  eyelid  and  a  painful  intaking  of  the  breath. 
Presently,  resting  upon  Jacquard 's  knee,  he 
opened  his  eyes  and  heaved  a  deep  sigh. 

"I  am  near  spent,"  he  muttered.  And  then, 
as  his  eye  caught  those  of  Bras-de-Fer,  a  smile 
with  the  faintest  glimmer  of  professional  pride 
twitched  at  his  lip. 

265 


THE  LOVE  OF  MONSIEUR 

"Ah,  monsieur,"  he  said,  "did  I  not  teach 
them  well  their  thrust  and  parry?" 

"Too  well,  indeed;  Destouches  himself  could 
not  have  done  better.  I  would  you  had  given 
them  less  skill,  mon  ami." 

1 1  'Twas  Craik  —  my  favorite  stroke  —  in 
tierce,"  he  gasped,  and  then  his  head  fell  back 
against  Jacquard.  Presently  he  revived  and 
looked  at  Barbara  and  Bras-de-Fer,  while  an- 
other smile  played  at  the  corner  of  his  blue  eye. 

"Madame,"  he  whispered  to  Barbara — "ma- 
dame,  he  has  loved  ye  long  and  well.  Take  him 
to  London  and  there  serve  him  as  a  boucanier 
and  renegado  should  be  served.  Take  him  pris- 
oner to  yer  house  and  yer  heart,  and  keep  him 
there  for  as  long  as  ye  both  shall  live."  A 
spasm  of  pain  shot  across  his  features,  and  he 
clutched  at  his  wound.  "Bedad,"  he  said,  "but 
the  plaguy  thing  burns  at  me  like  an  ember. 
It 's  nearly  over,  I  'm  thinking.  Rene, ' '  he  cried, 
"my  dear  man,  if  ye  tell  them  at  the  barracks 
that  I  was  brought  to  my  death  by  the  low  thrust 
in  tierce  in  the  hands  of  such  a  lout,  I'll  come 
from  my  grave  and  smite  ye.  An'  if  ye  see  my 

266 


MUTINY 

brother,  the  Earl,  ye  may  tell  him  for  me — to 
send  my  pittance  to — " 

The  effort  had  been  too  much  for  his  waning 
strength.  His  eyes  closed  again.  And  this 
time  they  did  not  open. 


CHAPTER  XVI 
MAROONED 

JACQUABD  conducted  Mistress  Barbara  aft 
to  the  cabin  until  the  boat  could  be  pre- 
pared. And  Monsieur  silently  followed,  his 
eyes  dim  with  tears  at  the  loss  of  this  friend 
to  whose  helpful  skill  both  he  and  Mistress 
Barbara  owed  their  lives.  When  they  were  safe 
within,  Jacquard  blurted  forth: 

"It  was  the  best  I  could  do,  monsieur,  the 
very  best  I  could  do.  The  danger  is  not  yet 
past.  There  is  no  safety  for  you  or  madame 
upon  the  same  ship  with  Yan  Gratz." 

Bras-de-Fer  silently  wrung  his  hands. 

"It  is  a  desperate  journey  for  a  lady  tried 
already  to  the  point  of  breaking,  Jacquard.  If 
they  would  but  land  us — " 

"Ah,  monsieur.  It  were  madness  to  try  them 
again.  Have  you  not  seen  their  temper!'7 

268 


MAROONED 


1  'No,  no,  monsieur,  I  am  strong!"  cried  Bar- 
bara. "See!  I  am  strong.  Let  us  leave  this 
dreadful  charnel-ship.  If  I  must  die,  let  it  be 
alone  upon  the  broad  ocean.  That  at  least  is 
clean  of  evil  intent. ' ' 

"Nay,  madame,"  continued  the  Frenchman. 
"If  they  would  but  sail  us — " 

"No,  no.  Let  us  go  at  once.  I  can  meet 
death  bravely  if  need  be,  but  not  here.'* 

"Monsieur,  it  will  not  be  so  bad,"  broke  in 
Jacquard.  "The  sea  has  gone  down,  and,  al- 
though a  long  swell  is  running,  it  is  low  and 
smooth.  A  fair  breeze  draws  from  the  west 
The  pinnace  is  stanch.  The  day  is  young.  By 
the  morrow  you  should  raise  the  palms  of 
Guanahani  above  the  sea.  I  shall  see  you  well 
provided  with  food,  water,  and  weapons.  Upon 
San  Salvador  are  friendly  Caribs,  and  in  due 
course — " 

"Mon  ami,"  said  Bras-de-Fer  at  last,  "you 
are  right.  Were  it  not  for  madame,  perhaps, 
I  should  yet  make  some  small  effort  to  establish 
myself  upon  the  Sally.  They  have  beaten  me, 
but  I  am  grieving  little.  I  have  no  stomach  for 

269 


THE  LOVE  OF  MONSIEUR 

this  life,  my  friend.  The  letting  of  blood  in  any 
but  honest  warfare  sickens  me  and  turns  me  to 
water.  I  leave  the  dogs  without  regret.  But 
you,  you  and  my  gallant  Cornbury. ' '  He  paused 
a  moment,  his  hand  to  his  brow,  then  raised  his 
head  with  a  glad  smile. 

1 '  Jacquard,  will  you  not  come  with  us  ?  If  we 
get  safe  ashore  I  can  perhaps  give  you  a  service 
which  will  requite  you. ' ' 

But  Jacquard  was  wagging  his  head. 

"No,  no,  monsieur.  It  is  too  late.  I  am  too 
old  a  bird.  Would  ye  clip  the  eagle's  wings! 
Would  ye  pen  the  old  falcon  in  a  gilded  hum- 
ming-bird cage  ?  I  Ve  chosen  to  fly  broadly,  and 
broadly  I'll  fly  till  some  stray  bullet  ends  my 
napping.  And  now  make  ready,  madame.  A 
warm  cloak  against  the  night  air,  a  pillow — for 
boat-thwarts  are  none  too  soft;  and  when  ye 
are  ready  I  shall  be  at  the  door. ' '  And  he  van- 
ished, his  bullet  head,  with  its  round  wool  cap, 
scraping  at  the  door-jamb  as  he  passed. 

When  he  had  gone,  Barbara  sank  upon  the 
bench  at  the  table.  Had  it  not  been  for  the 
strong  arms  of  Bras-de-Fer  she  must  have 

270 


MAROONED 


fallen  to  the  deck.  Tired  nature,  overwrought 
nerves,  rebellious,  refused  to  obey. 

"But  a  little  while,  Barbara,  dear,  and  we 
will  be  alone.  Courage,  brave  one !  Courage ! 
We  will  soon  gain  the  shore.  Then,  a  ship — 
and— life!" 

"Ah,  monsieur,  I  am  weary.  So  weary  that 
I  fear  for  this  journey  in  the  open  boat.  God 
grant  we  may  reach  its  ending. "  Her  head  fell 
forward  upon  his  breast  and  she  breathed 
heavily  as  one  in  a  deep  sleep. 

He  laid  her  gently  so  that  her  arms  rested 
upon  the  table.  Then  he  quickly  prepared  a 
package  of  articles  which  would  be  most  neces- 
sary for  her.  Jewels  there  were  and  a  packet  of 
his  own  money.  He  found  a  flask  of  eau-de-vie, 
and  when  he  had  aroused  her  he  gently  forced 
her  to  drink  a  half -tumbler  of  it  mixed  with 
water. 

Presently  Jacquard  and  Earthier  came  with 
the  papers  for  him  to  sign.  When  this  was  done 
they  all  went  upon  the  deck.  The  Spanish  prize 
lay  at  a  distance  of  several  cables '  lengths,  and, 
from  a  movement  among  the  spars,  was  getting 

271 


THE  LOVE  OF  MONSIEUR 

under  way  in  charge  of  the  prize  crew.  Along- 
side, at  the  starboard  gangway,  rode  the  pin- 
nace. It  looked  so  small,  so  masterless  and  help- 
less, by  the  side  of  the  larger  vessels  in  that 
infinity  of  ocean,  that  Mistress  Barbara  shivered 
as  she  looked  down  into  it.  But  one  glance 
around  the  decks  to  where  the  prostrate  figures 
had  lain  reconciled  her  to  her  lot. 

Between  Bras-de-Fer  and  Jacquard  there  was 
but  one  hearty  hand-shake.  The  very  lack  of 
more  effusive  demonstration  between  them 
meant  more  than  many  words  could  have  done. 
And  as  monsieur  passed  over  the  gangway  and 
down  into  the  vessel  there  was  little  in  his  de- 
meanor to  show  the  sting  of  his  defeat  at  the 
hands  of  these  devils  of  the  sea,  whom  he  had 
sought,  and  unsuccessfully,  to  bring  into  the 
domain  of  a  proper  humanity.  A  scornful  laugh 
broke  from  among  the  men  as  he  disappeared 
over  the  side,  and  Yan  Gratz,  waving  a  pistol, 
piped  obscene  threats  and  criticism  from  the 
quarter-deck.  But  presently,  when  Mistress 
Barbara  had  been  slung  over  the  side  in  a  whip 
from  the  main-yard,  Jacquard  disappeared 

272 


MAROONED 


from  the  rail,  and  the  falsetto  of  the  Dutchman 
was  no  longer  heard. 

The  mast  in  the  pinnace  had  been  stepped, 
and  the  sail,  strong  and  serviceable,  but  none 
too  large,  flapped  impatiently  in  the  breeze. 
And  so  when  Barbara  was  seated,  white  and 
dark-eyed,  showing  with  a  painful  effort  a  last 
haughty  disdain  to  the  rascals  at  the  portholes 
and  bulwarks,  Bras-de-Fer  shipped  his  tiller  and 
hauled  his  sheet  aft  to  the  wind.  The  little 
vessel  bounced  in  a  sprightly,  joyous  fashion, 
the  brown  sail  bulged  stanchly,  and  in  a  moment 
a  patch  of  green  water,  ever  growing  wider, 
flashed  and  trembled  between  the  pinnace  and 
the  Saucy  Sally.  Among  the  row  of  dark  heads 
along  the  rail  Bras-de-Fer  looked  for  only  one, 
and  to  him  he  presently  turned  and  raised  his 
hat  in  salute.  Jacquard  replied;  and  then  his 
long  arms  went  flying  and  his  hoarse  voice  cried 
aloud  the  orders  to  set  the  vessel  upon  her 
course.  Presently  the  yards  flew  around,  the 
vessel  squared  away,  and  the  Saucy  Sally  was 
but  a  memory.  A  vessel  nameless,  without 

273 


THE  LOVE  OF  MONSIEUR 

identity,  was  Bailing  away  from  them  upon  the 
sea,  and  they  were  alone. 

Barbara  looked  no  more.  She  had  seated  her- 
self upon  the  gratings  at  the  bottom  of  the  craft, 
her  arms  resting  upon  the  stern  thwart.  But 
now  that  all  immediate  danger  had  passed  and 
she  sat  safe  and  at  peace,  the  wonderful  spirit 
and  courage  to  which  she  had  nerved  herself  in 
a  moment  failed  her.  Her  head  fell  forward 
upon  her  arms  and  she  sank  inert  and  prone  at 
the  feet  of  the  Frenchman.  Scarce  realizing 
what  had  happened,  yet  fearful  that  some  dread- 
ful fate  had  intervened  to  take  his  love  from 
him,  he  dropped  the  tiller  and  fell  upon  his 
knees  by  her  side,  his  mind  shaken  by  the  agony 
of  the  moment ;  for  her  face  had  taken  a  kind  of 
waxen,  leaden  color  more  terrifying  than  mere 
pallor,  and  the  lips,  save  for  a  faint-blue  tinge, 
became  under  his  very  eyes  of  the  same  deathly 
hue.  He  dashed  handful  after  handful  of  the 
sea-water  into  her  face  and  rubbed  her  chill 
arms  and  hands.  He  poured  a  draught  of  the 
rum  between  her  cold  lips.  But  she  moved  not. 
Beseech  her  as  he  might,  there  was  no  response 

274 


MAROONED 


to  his  petitions.  He  sought  the  pulse ;  he  could 
feel  nothing.  The  breath  had  ceased.  Oh,  God! 
Had  the  cup  of  happiness  been  placed  at  their 
lips  only  to  sip?  Was  it  to  be  poured  out  before 
his  very  eyes  ?  He  cried  aloud  in  his  agony  and 
raised  the  face  to  his  own,  kissing  it  again  and 
again,  as  if  by  the  warmth  of  his  own  passion 
he  could  awaken  it  to  life. 

' '  My  love !  my  love ! "  he  cried.  ' '  Come  back 
to  me!  Come  back  to  me  again!  Open  thine 
eyes!  Breathe  but  my  name!  Come  back  to 
me,  my  love ! ' ' 

He  had  waited  an  eternity.  At  last,  as  he 
put  his  ear  to  her  breast,  a  sound,  ever  so  faint, 
but  still  a  sound,  told  him  that  the  heart  was 
pulsing  anew.  He  forced  a  generous  draught 
of  the  rum  through  her  lips  and  madly  renewed 
his  efforts  to  arouse  the  blood.  Several  mo- 
ments more  he  struggled  in  pitiful  suspense, 
and  then  a  gentle  color  flowed  under  the  marble 
skin,  a  touch  of  pink  rose  to  the  blue  lips,  the 
eyelids  quivered  a  moment  and  then  opened. 
He  hauled  the  sail  to  shield  her  from  the  glare 
of  the  sun,  and  held  a  cup  of  fresh  water  to  her 

275 


THE  LOVE  OF  MONSIEUR 

lips.  She  looked  at  him,  but  no  words  came 
from  her  lips.  Instead,  she  breathed  a  sigh  and 
with  a  faint  smile  relinquished  herself  and  fell 
back  peacefully  into  his  arms.  Once  or  twice 
she  opened  her  eyes  in  an  effort  to  speak,  but 
each  time  he  soothed  her  and  bade  her  rest.  He 
was  but  a  man,  and  it  needed  a  gentler  hand  to 
cope  with  such  an  emergency ;  but  now  that  the 
danger  was  past  he  felt  instinctively  that  nature 
would  seek  in  her  own  ways  to  restore,  and  he 
let  her  lie  quiet,  pillowed  in  the  curve  of  his  arm 
against  his  breast.  And  so,  presently,  her 
breathing  was  regular,  and  she  slept. 

He  could  not  know  how  long  it  had  been  since 
they  left  the  Sally,  but  by  the  sun  he  saw  that 
there  was  yet  an  hour  or  two  of  the  day.  The 
ships  were  become  mere  dull  blotches  upon  the 
sky,  and  from  his  position  the  lower  tier  of 
guns  seemed  just  at  the  line  of  the  sea.  Time 
was  precious,  for  the  land  lay  a  full  day's  sail, 
even  should  the  breeze  continue  to  favor  them, 
and  he  could  not  tell  how  long  it  would  blow  thus 
steadily.  Fearful  of  awakening  Barbara  and 
yet  anxious  to  take  advantage  of  every  favor- 

276 


MAROONED 


able  opportunity,  he  reached  for  the  sheet  and 
tiller  and  set  the  little  vessel  upon  her  course. 
She  heeled  gladly  to  the  wind,  and  the  coursing 
of  the  water  beneath  her  long  keel  made  a  sound 
grateful  to  his  ears.  He  had  taken  the  Sally's 
position  upon  the  charts  before  leaving,  and 
steered  a  course  which  should  surely  fetch  a 
sight  of  the  land  upon  the  morrow.  If  the 
breeze  held  and  the  night  were  clear,  he  could 
steer  by  the  stars.  He  blessed  the  habits  of  his 
training,  in  which  he  had  studied  the  heavens 
in  his  night  watches,  wherever  he  might  be. 
There  was  no  sign  of  any  disturbance  of  the 
elements.  The  heavy  swell  now  and  then  shook 
the  wind  out  of  his  tiny  sail,  but  not  a  cloud 
flecked  the  sky  above  him,  and  the  sea  which 
glittered  and  sprang  playfully  at  the  sides  of 
the  pinnace  seemed  to  beckon  to  him  gladly  in 
hopeful  augury  for  the  hours  to  come. 

The  apprehensions  that  he  had  felt  were  dis- 
sipated in  the  mellow  glow  of  the  southern  sun. 
Had  he  been  alone,  this  voyage  in  an  open  boat 
over  an  unknown  sea  would  have  filled  him 
with  delight.  But  the  slender  figure  at  his  side, 

277 


THE  LOVE  OF  MONSIEUR 

which  lay  pale  and  silent  in  the  shadow  of  the 
gunwale,  filled  him  with  vague  alarms. 

On,  on  into  the  void,  the  tiny  vessel  crept. 
The  sun  sank  low  in  the  sky  and  dropped,  a  red 
ball,  behind  the  disk  of  sea.  The  dusk  swept 
up  over  the  ocean  like  the  shadow  of  a  storm, 
and  night  drew  a  purplish  curtain  across  the 
smiling  heaven.  The  stars  twinkled  into  sudden 
life,  and  night  fell,  clear,  warm,  spangled,  while 
the  soft,  stealthy  seas  crept  alongside  and 
leaped  and  fawned  at  the  shearing  prow  of  the 
pinnace.  An  arching  moon  arose  and  sailed,  a 
silver  boat,  high  into  the  heavens.  But  Bras-de- 
Fer  moved  not  and  Barbara  still  slept.  Contin- 
ually his  keen  eyes  swept  the  dark  rim  of  the 
horizon  for  a  blur  of  sail  or  the  sign  of  any 
portentous  movement  of  the  elements.  He  knew 
the  horrors  of  this  southern  ocean,  and  the 
catlike  purring  of  the  silken  seas  did  not  deceive 
him ;  for  in  the  swaying  deep  he  could  feel  the 
great  rhythmical  pulse  of  the  heart  of  the  sea, 
which  spoke  a  continuous,  sullen,  ominous 
threat  of  resistless  might,  ready  at  the  turn  of 
a  mood  to  rise,  engulf,  and  devour. 

278 


MAROONED 


By  midnight  the  wind  fell,  and  with  the 
flapping  of  the  idle  sail  Barbara  awoke. 

She  lay  for  some  moments,  her  eyes  winking 
at  the  swinging  stars,  then  pushed  the  cloak 
aside,  lifted  her  head,  and  looked  wide-eyed 
around  and  into  the  face  of  Bras-de-Fer. 

"I  have  slept?"  she  asked,  bewildered — "I 
have  slept  in  this  boat?"  He  bent  forward 
over  her  eager  delight. 

"The  clock  around,  Barbara,  dear.  You  were 
so  weary,  so  weary,  I  have  let  you  rest." 

"Ah,  yes,  I  remember.    The  Saucy  Sally — " 

"An  eril  dream,  a  nightmare.  See;  we  are 
borne  upon  a  fairy  sea.  All  the  world  is  at 
peace.  This  infinity  of  beauty  is  ours — it  is  for 
us  alone. ' ' 

She  shuddered  a  little  and  drew  closer  to  him. 
"Oh,  it  is  so  vast,  so  inscrutable,  this  treacher- 
ous, pitiless  water!  Have  we  come  nearer  to 
the  land?" 

"Fifteen  leagues  at  least.  The  wind  has 
failed  us  but  this  half -hour.  After  you  have 
eaten  and  drunk  you  shall  sleep  again,  and 

279 


THE  LOFE  OF  MONSIEUR 

when  you  awake  I  promise  you  land  under  the 
very  lid  of  the  eye. ' ' 

"And  you — have  you  not  slept T" 

"Madame,  I  am  a  very  owl  of  birds.  But  I 
have  the  hunger  of  a  lynx. ' ' 

Then  while  she  took  the  helm  he  set  before  her 
the  food  which  Jacquard  had  provided.  There 
were  sea-biscuit,  boucan,  preserved  fruits  from 
the  store  of  the  San  Isidro,  and  a  pannikin  of 
rum-and-water. 

It  was  not  until  she  ate  that  she  discovered 
how  hungry  she  was;  Bras-de-Fer  had  eaten 
nothing  for  eight-and-forty  hours.  And  so  like 
two  children  they  sat  and  supped  hungrily. 
When  the  meal  was  done,  Bras-de-Fer  arranged 
the  bread-bags  and  the  pillow  so  that  she  might 
sleep  in  greater  comfort,  but  she  would  not 
have  it  so. 

"No,  no,"  she  insisted,  "I  am  well  again  and 
strong.  If  you  do  not  sleep  I  shall  not. ' '  And 
so  resolute  was  her  tone  that  he  forbore  to  press 
her  further. 

But  sleep  was  the  furthest  from  his  own  eyes. 
He  felt  not  even  the  faintest  touch  of  weariness. 

280 


MAROONED 


She  leaned  back  upon  his  arm  again,  and  so, 
hand  in  hand,  they  sat  in  their  little  vessel,  mute 
and  spellbound  at  the  completeness  of  their 
happiness,  which  even  the  presence  of  grim 
danger  was  powerless  to  steal  away  from  them. 
The  air  was  sweet  and  balmy  and  brushed  their 
cheeks  like  the  breath  from  an  angel's  wing. 
The  first  pungent  aromatic  odor  of  the  land 
reached  their  nostrils,  mingled  delicately  with 
the  salt  of  the  sea.  In  silence  they  watched  the 
planets  burn  and  glow  red  like  molten  iron 
against  the  star-bepowdered  sky,  across  which 
the  placid  moon  sailed  down  upon  its  promised 
course.  Flying  stars  vied  with  each  other  in 
the  brightness  of  their  illuminations  in  their 
honor.  And  presently,  shaming  them  into  dark- 
ness, a  giant  meteor  shot  like  a  flaming  brand 
across  the  spacious  sky,  spurning  and  burying 
in  its  splendid  pathway  a  myriad  of  the  lesser 
embers ;  which,  when  it  was  done,  peeped  forth 
again  timidly  upon  the  velvet  night,  ashamed  of 
their  small  share  in  its  glory.  All  of  this  they 
saw  reflected  doubly  on  an  ocean  of  gray  satin, 
which  sent  the  bright  reflections  in  wriggling 

281 


THE  LOVE  OF  MONSIEUR 

rays  like  so  many  snakes  of  fire  to  mingle  and 
play  amid  the  glow  of  the  caressing  surges, 
which  gushed  languidly  at  their  very  feet. 

To  have  spoken  would  have  been  to  break  the 
spell  which  bound  them  to  the  infinite.  And 
so  they  sat  enthroned  in  these  wonderful  domin- 
ions of  which  for  the  nonce  they  were  prince  and 
princess. 

' '  Thou  art  content  f "  he  asked  at  last. 

She  did  not  answer  him  at  once.  When  she 
did,  it  was  softly  and  with  eyes  which  sought  the 
distant  horizon  away  from  him. 

"If  to  be  content  means  to  breathe  freely, 
deeply,  the  pure  air  of  heaven,  to  thank  God  for 
the  present,  to  care  not  what  evil  has  been  or 
what  evil  may  be,  to  be  engulfed  in  quiet  delight, 
to  be  swathed  in  peace,  then,  monsieur,  I  am 
content. ' ' 

He  flushed  warmly,  and  the  arm  about  her 
tightened.  He  sought  her  lips  with  his  own. 
She  did  not  resist  him.  And  so  before  the  high, 
effulgent  altar  of  God 's  heaven,  with  the  surges 
for  choristers,  the  stars  for  candles,  and  the 

282 


MAROONED 


voices  of  the  sentient  night  for  company,  he 
plighted  her  his  troth. 

It  was  then  that  she  swept  away  the  only 
shadow  that  remained  upon  their  love.  With 
head  bowed,  in  deep  contrition  he  told  her  of 
his  madness  that  first  night  upon  the  Saucy 
Sally,  when  he  had  wildly  railed  at  fate,  at  all 
things,  and  promised  to  wreak  upon  her  he  knew 
not  what  dire  vengeance. 

"Our  accounts  are  balanced,  then/'  she 
smiled.  "We  shall  begin  anew.  For  I,  too, 
have  many  times  denied  you  in  my  heart  and 
on  my  lips.  And  I  know  that  I  have  loved  you 
always." 

"Adoree/"  he  whispered. 

It  was  Barbara,  as  if  to  belie  her  own  happi- 
ness, who  first  broke  the  spell  of  witchery  that 
had  fallen  upon  them.  Her  eyes,  which  had  aim- 
lessly sought  the  horizon,  stopped  and  dilated 
as  she  fixed  her  gaze  upon  one  spot  which 
trembled  and  swam  in  the  light.  Bras-de-Fer 
started  up,  straining  his  eyes  to  where  she 
pointed. 

"Look!"  she  cried.    "Is  it—" 
283 


THE  LOVE  OF  MONSIEUR 

There,  her  rigging  and  sails  clearly  drawn  in 
lines  of  ice,  a  phantom  of  the  thing  that  she  was, 
hung  a  vessel.  She  had  crept  up  on  some  flaw 
of  wind,  her  sail  in  the  shadow,  and  now  upon 
another  tack  had  thrown  her  white  canvases  to 
the  reflection  of  the  sky. 

"It  is  no  phantom,"  cried  monsieur,  in  de- 
light. "A  ship,  Barbara,  cherie!  By  her  build 
a  man-of-war,  not  two  leagues  distant. ' ' 

"Will  she  have  seen  us,  do  you  think?" 

"If  she  has  not,  it  will  be  but  a  matter  of 
moments. ' ' 

He  ran  forward  to  where  the  provisions  and 
weapons  had  been  put  under  a  piece  of  pitched 
canvas.  He  drew  forth  a  musket,  and  loaded  it 
with  an  extra  charge  of  powder.  Barbara  put 
her  fingers  to  her  ears  as  the  gun  roared  forth 
its  salute. 

The  silent  night  was  split  and  riven  asunder 
by  the  mighty  echoes ;  the  robe  of  enchantment 
fell,  the  prince  and  princess  were  prince  and 
princess  no  longer.  Barbara  sighed.  Their 
throne  was  but  a  rugged  boat  and  themselves 
but  castaways  wildly  seeking  a  refuge.  The 

284 


dream  of  an  hour  was  over.  But  none  the  less 
she  helped  monsieur  load  the  muskets,  and  cried 
gladly  when  a  flash  and  a  puff  of  smoke  came 
from  the  side  of  the  stranger,  and  the  low  re- 
verberation of  the  echoes  of  the  shot  told  her 
that  they  were  rescued. 

The  ship  came  slowly  down.  'Twas  evident 
she  brought  the  wind  with  her,  for  about  the 
pinnace  all  was  a  dead  calm.  Barbara's  qualms 
that  she,  too,  might  be  a  boucanier  were  speedily 
set  at  rest ;  for  as  she  came  nearer  they  discov- 
ered that  she  sat  tall  upon  the  water,  and  the 
glint  of  her  ordnance  along  her  larboard  streaks 
proclaimed  her  trade.  No  sign  of  her  nation- 
ality she  gave  until  she  had  come  within  long 
earshot.  Then  a  round,  honest  English  voice 
rang  heartily: 

"Ahoy  the  boat!  Who  are  ye?  Whence  d'ye 
come  ? ' ' 

To  this  Bras-de-Fer  replied  that  they  were 
castaways,  marooned,  and  in  sore  need  of  help. 
The  ship,  they  learned,  was  his  Majesty's  Royal 
Maid,  war  brig  of  his  excellency  the  governor 
of  Jamaica. 

285 


THE  LOVE  OF  MONSIEUR 

"See,  madame,"  he  murmured  as  the  ship 
drew  near.  "  'Tis  manifest  you  are  my  des- 
tiny. While  you  have  frowned,  Dame  Fortune 
would  have  none  of  me.  And  now  she  is  be- 
nignity itself."  He  paused,  sighing.  "And  yet 
I  could  almost  wish  she  had  not  smiled  so  soon. ' ' 

Her  hand  under  cover  of  the  cloak  sought  his. 
"Insatiable  man,  can  you  not  be  content?" 

"It  was  too,  too  sweet  an  enchantment  to  be 
so  soon  ended." 

"Nay,"  she  whispered.  "It  is  but  just  be- 
gun." 

(4) 
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